Evanesco
by Laterose
Summary: If the end of Harry's fifth year was bad, the beginning of the sixth is going to be much worse. When Death Eaters capture both Harry and Neville, it's up to them to find their way back - not to mention having to deal with a certain blonde tag-along...
1. Prologue

Author's Notes: Hi!! Guess what, I'm back! Welcome all, to my brand new tale, Evanesco. My writing improved a lot during the writing of 'Fifth Year' and this time I get to have a decent start as well as a happy ending (hopefully). I also have a plan and betas this time, so the quality of writing will be much higher.

Disclaimer for entire story: I do not own Harry Potter, though someday I wish to own something similar that will make me a whole ton of cash! ;)

Thank you to my super betas – Alaranth88 for spelling and grammar, citcat299 for sentencing and expression, and liddlebee for all round loving and ranting!!

For those who do not recognise it, the word 'evanesco' means 'to vanish' - the vanishing spell used in _Order of the Phoenix_ several times.

I have uploaded the Prologue and Chapter One at the same time – so don't forget to read both, now!

**Evanesco**

Prologue

_AZKABAN NO LONGER SECURE_

_A recent visit to the widely-renowned prison Azkaban has revealed that several top security prisoners have escaped from the island. Some of these prisoners, including Mr. Antonin Dolohov, were among those who escaped during the mass breakout in January this year, and were recaptured after the raid of the department of mysteries last month. _

_Other fugitives include Mr. Lucius Malfoy, former Ministry Employee, Mr. Jonathan Avery and Mr. Theodore Nott (snr). The public is warned that all the escapees (see full list on page 2) are highly dangerous and all sightings should be reported to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement immediately._

_The Dementors, the prison guards of Azkaban, have been questioned and appear to have no idea as to how these men made their escape, although Aurors who investigated the scene once the break out was discovered reported traces of red smoke in a thin layer covering the ground floor._

_'They can't be trusted,' remarked an Auror on the scene, who preferred to remain anonymous. 'Foul things, Dementors. They'll support whoever offers them the most. Dumbledore's been saying it for years – they'll join Voldemort as soon as it's convenient for [them]. I blame the Ministry – they should have been watched much more closely. Constant vigilance!'_

_Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, was unavailable for comment, but Minister Cornelius Fudge had this to say: "Azkaban is and always has been the strongest and safest institution we can provide to contain villains of this magnitude. But despite the reassurances of the Minister, there have been three breakouts from the island prison over the last three years, the first being the escape of the infamous Sirius Black (deceased). Dumbledore, who with the help of Harry Potter himself, revealed the return of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named last month, has announced publicly that of all the Dark Lord's alleged followers, Sirius Black was innocent of all charges upon which he was convicted without trial, and was trying to protect 15-year-old Harry Potter when he was killed by Bellatrix Lestrange, another January escapee, in the Department of Mysteries. 'Lestrange, on the other hand,' the aged wizard continued, 'is, sadly, completely insane and quite dangerous. Even in her current state of mental health, it is likely that she could become [You-Know-Who]'s right hand.'_

_It is unsure as to which of the Dark Lord's followers was his previous right hand, but of the two candidates, Lucius Malfoy and Peter Pettigrew, one has not been seen for over a year. Pettigrew, a former close friend of Black, is, according to Dumbledore, 'the man who led Sirius to his fate'. (Full details, page 8). He was sighted once more after 12 years of charading as a rat, by Black, Remus Lupin, a close friend, Harry Potter and two of his school mates. One of these, Ron Weasley, says: 'he's short, and very thin but kind of flabby, and he's got a silver hand. He betrayed Sirius and he was my rat for three years.' Weasley (15), goes on to tell of Pettigrew's part in the rebirth of Lord Voldemort (full story, see Issue #65321) 'He took blood from Harry and chopped off his own hand,' says Weasley. 'And the most horrible thing is, he still owes Harry a wizard's debt.'_

_Dumbledore and Ministry Authorities have forbidden reporters to approach Potter._

_Lucius Malfoy, a once highly respected Ministry official and St. Mungo's donator for many years, has been unveiled as one of the most prominent of The Dark Lord's supporters. But, after only a month in Azkaban, he is once more on the loose and no doubt struggling to maintain his old position. Nott and Avery, both once respected followers, are no doubt in the same dilemma. _

_'A struggle for power is the most dangerous thing there is,' said Arthur Weasley, political liaison for Albus Dumbledore. 'And with Azkaban no longer safe and all the Death Eaters wanting to gain favour in You-Know-Who's eyes – there's just no telling what they might do'. _

_- Daily Prophet, Issue #65340, July 5th 1996._

------

This is the world. Everyday life continues. Men and women go to work, children go to school, and parents look after their children. Penniless people beg for food, African women travel miles to gather water from a well. Businessmen in big cities lie and cheat and roll in money. This is the world.

The other world is simply waiting.

Owls are flying from England to every single corner of the world. Scientists cannot find a reason for this strange activity. On the edge of London, underneath a telephone box on the side of the street, people bustle around trying to keep order while informing the remainder of the world of the impending danger.

Miles away from the telephone box in opposite directions; two boys are staring at their bedroom ceilings.

-----------

Harry Potter lay on his bed amid a mound of chaos. His room had never been so messy. In the absence of all his magical or 'unnatural' items, Aunt Petunia had come in during the summer and done a brisk tidy-up – obviously unable to stand the thought of a dirty room anywhere in her house.

Harry had managed to mess it up again quite quickly, trying to maintain some sense of self in the place. He had to admit it was nice not to walk over a carpet infested with dust and crushed owl treats, and to work at a desk that wasn't so dirty it smeared the parchment he wrote on while at Privet Drive, but that didn't stop him piling clothes, books and various potions apparatus all over the floor, draped over the back of his chair and in heaps on the shelves.

It made him feel safe, for some reason. Hedwig, his owl, often made it quite clear that she did not approve of the pig-sty they were living in, and went out flying frequently, stopping only to eat or pick up letters. Privately, Harry thought there might be something else warranting this behaviour – perhaps Hedwig had made a new friend last year at Hogwarts and was pining – but his faithful owl had never failed him before and he wasn't going to bother her unless she, in her unique way, asked him for his help.

The summer had been completely uneventful so far. His aunt and uncle had almost completely ignored him for the last few weeks, except to occasionally ask him, gruffly, whether he wanted anything. The small 'talk' Moody, Tonks and Lupin had given Uncle Vernon at the train station seemed to have had a numbing effect on them. Harry had spent all his free time in his room reading. By now he'd read and reread every single one of his school books through all of his five years at Hogwarts and yet could hardly remember anything from them. Concentration eluded him at every turn, even when he was trying to mentally practice the spells in his DADA books. Most of those spells would do him absolutely no good in a duel to the death, anyway.

The article a couple of days ago had not added to his good feeling. He supposed it didn't make too much difference – Voldemort would either have broken them out anyway or gathered new followers. But Lucius Malfoy was dangerous, and apparently, so were Nott and Avery. Ron's comments about Wormtail had made him smile a bit, though he wondered how the Daily Prophet had got anywhere near his friend without Molly Weasley beating them off with a frying pan.

There was no one to talk to – in person, anyway. This might not have bothered him if it weren't for the fact that he was practically forbidden to leave the house, and the only room in this house he remotely liked was his own room. And in there, the only one to talk to was Hedwig. His owl was a great listener, when she wanted to be, but wasn't excellent at talking back. He knew for a fact that there was at least one Auror outside the house at all times, but none of them ever made any attempt at conversation. He'd even tried calling out of the window, quietly so that the neighbours wouldn't notice. But aside from the occasionally affirmative rustle of bushes, no one even seemed willing to say hello.

He'd written plenty of letters, of course. The last thing he needed was his self-appointed protectors coming over to curse the Dursleys into smithereens, though the thought itself was sort of funny. The letters were beginning to grate on his nerves, however. While during the previous summer he'd had little or no correspondence with his friends in the wizarding world, this year he got daily owls – sometimes carrying information but usually just asking stupid questions. __

_Are you ok, Harry? Mum's really worried about you; do you think Dumbledore will let you stay with us anytime soon? Are you really bored, Harry?_

No, he was not okay. No, there was no chance that Dumbledore would allow him to visit Grimmauld Place this summer. And no, he was not bored. How could he be? Every time his mind went black from lack of things to think about, in floated Sirius and Sirius' death. No one else could possibly understand how that felt. It didn't even occur to him that some of his friends may very well have suffered similar losses, it didn't matter. His godfather had died smiling and laughing, and Harry had seen it. Been unable to stop it.

It made him feel ill. Time and time again he'd told himself to get a grip, but the more he tried to erase the feelings from his mind, the further they came. He found himself continually wishing that he'd tried harder at Occlumency. And that was when he wasn't worrying about exam results, or how to survive the summer with only his relatives for company, or the prophecy that foretold that if he, Harry, did not kill the Dark Lord Voldemort then the Dark Lord would kill him in turn.

He supposed he might not have been so nervous about receiving the results of his OWLs had not Dudley not failed his GSCEs spectacularly earlier in the year. After his cousins' results had landed on the doorstep one morning, Harry had found it safer to stay in his room while Uncle Vernon raged for hours about the terrible schooling systems and corrupt examiners, and how the country was going to the dogs and it was time they got some scandal –free people in government. Harry guessed that Vernon was still fuming over the slip Harry had made last summer about the Ministry of Magic.

Aunt Petunia kept sobbing over how Dudley's career was ruined. Dudley himself seemed quite indifferent to his inevitable academic doom.

Harry was quite sure that the Dursleys would not care in the slightest whether or not he had scraped an A in Potions, but Professor Snape most definitely would, and it looked very much like his chosen career as an Auror was going down the drain.

Harry wasn't even all that sure he wanted to be an Auror anymore. Every time he thought about trying to kill the most powerful Dark wizard alive he felt something heavy drop into his stomach, but he had to do it and even if by some miracle he actually_ managed _it, he was sure that he wouldn't want to do anymore of that sort of thing afterwards.

He'd enjoyed the DA, up to a point. Helping people defend themselves had felt sort of good. Could he do that for a living? Harry imagined himself teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts and couldn't suppress a slight chuckle. He'd be better than at least three of the Defence teachers they'd had so far. But he'd need top marks in Defence, Care of Magical Creatures, Transfiguration, Charms, and (most probably) Potions to get a placement at any magical school. And he'd have to live that long, first.

Think positive, Hermione would say. But it was hard work.

Neville Longbottom was also staring at his bedroom ceiling. He was lying on the floor, for no reason he could explain to himself, breathing in the musky scent of the carpet and fiddling with the bottom of the thick blue curtains with one hand.

His Gran had not been angry with him for breaking his father's wand. On the contrary, she had told him in her stiff, uptight way that she was proud of him for helping to bring the Ministry around to recognising the return of You-Know-Who. A week afterwards she'd taken a nasty fall down the stairs and been whisked off to St. Mungo's.

Neville's uncle Algie had come to the house to look after him. Neville didn't like Uncle Algie. He was fat and he smelled and he shouted. He made messes in the kitchen which Neville then had to clean up. He slept most of the day and left hair in the bathroom sink. But he didn't nag Neville about his marks or lecture him on how great his parents were compared to him, or routinely check his bedroom for specks of dust or dirty clothes on the floor.

It was… kind of a relief not to have his Gran around, although of course they had to take a train into town to visit her every other day. Each time she asked him about his OWL results, and each time he told her they hadn't come yet. He knew they wouldn't be good enough to get him any of the careers she wanted for him. But all he needed was a passing grade in Herbology and Potions to become an initiate at St. Mungo's.

And he knew he didn't stand a chance.

Potions was easily his worst subject. He'd never get more than two out of ten for a piece of work and that was only when he spent all night writing 15 inch essays and evaluations. He often wondered why he bothered - Snape would mark him down whatever he did. But then he would answer his own question with_: because I'm terrified of what he'll do to me if I don't hand anything in._

Often he wished he wasn't such a coward. True, he'd gone to the Department of Mysteries with Harry, but really it was only out of guilt that everyone else was prepared to go and he wasn't.

He rolled over and pulled his potions text book towards him. He'd been attempting to memorise the rules for stirring and crushing – something that would save him hundreds of sickles on cauldrons if he managed it, but he didn't seem to be able to focus.

A strange sickly smell that made him think of strawberry jam reached his nostrils. Curious, he pushed the book aside and went to his bedroom door. "Uncle Algie? What are you doing?"

No one answered. The smell was much stronger on the landing – it made him feel dizzy and sick, much like the fumes from Professor Trelawney's tower room. Neville was more than just a little worried now. Covering his mouth and nose, he started to descend the stairs. He had to stop to regain his balance several times as the smell was now intoxicating and was making his legs feel heavy and useless.

The ground floor had looked slightly misty from the top of the stairs, but when he reached the last step he found himself enveloped in a thick, candyfloss-blue fog.

"Uncle?" he called again, inhaling a mouthful of the foggy stuff as he did so. He tried to cry out through his coughs, or at least reach for his wand, but his muscles seemed useless and his throat too constricted. The last thing he saw before he collapsed was a dark figure coming towards him through the fog.


	2. In Which Harry is Careless

**Evanesco**

**Chapter 1**

**In Which Harry Is Careless and Death Eaters Demolish a Primary School**

It was well past midnight when Harry decided it was probably time to go to sleep. He'd spent the last few hours attempting to practice Occlumency, with a certain emphasis on the word 'attempting'. He had been working on the theory that clearing his mind would either help to take his mind off the horrible pit of unfairness that was his life, or give him some answers to the constant questions that plagued his thoughts and invaded his dreams. Unfortunately all it did was give him headaches, a strong sense of annoyance – and occasionally nightmares. It was hard to concentrate anyway as a storm had started thundering its way across Little Whinging, wind whistling shrilly through the air and rain thudding on the roof.

_Tap._

Yawning, Harry grabbed his glasses from the bedside table where he'd put them in case he fell asleep during his practise, which happened quite frequently.

_Tap._

He switched on the lamp so he could see to get changed, stretched, and made his way over to the chest of drawers for some clean pyjamas.

_Tap._

He heard it that time, over the constant roar of the storm, but he had his huge jumper halfway over his head. "It's open, Hedwig," he said through the thick wool. But the tapping at the window was not his owl. When Harry won the fight with Dudley's old clothing and glanced outside, there was nothing there. Taking a cautious step forward, Harry picked up his wand from the desk, never taking his eyes off the window.

_Tap!_

Harry jumped as another pebble rapped hard against the glass and fell back. Who on earth…? It came to him as suddenly as the stone had hit the pane. One of the Aurors outside wanted to talk to him. "Damnit," he muttered, pulling the jumper back on and racing to open the window to its full extent, letting in a blast of cold air and splattering his clothes with raindrops.

At first glance, it was so dark outside and so obscured by the sheets of rain that he could see nothing save the houses illuminated by faint light from their windows. The garden was pitch black and the thunder intruded on all his senses. "Hello?" Harry called, as loud as he dared without waking the Dursleys. "Anyone there?"

Silence. Then, as Harry was starting to contemplate going down there and looking for the bodies of dead sparrows that might have crashed against the window in the dark, he heard a small voice from below. "Harry?"

"Yes?" he called, leaning out of the window as far as he could without falling over the sill, his hair dripping water into his eyes. "Tonks? Professor Lupin?"

Then the moon came out from behind a storm cloud. The light spread over the fence and bushes, to reveal…

"Neville? What on earth are _you_ doing here?" The boy was soaked through to the skin and shivering in jeans and a thin shirt. He didn't have any luggage or belongings of any sort with him, and he had his arms wrapped protectively around his chest, flinching against the downpour.

"Harry!" he called up in a strange, desperate voice. "Please…"

Harry didn't stop to think. Tugging a cloak from where it was sticking out of his trunk, he threw it around his shoulders and dashed out onto the landing and down the stairs, no longer caring how much noise he was making. He fumbled with the keys in the front door, trying to work out which of the five fit which lock. It was while he was fuming over the Dursleys' considerable paranoia problem when he realised how careless he was being. This foolhardiness was what had got Sirius killed.

He stopped fumbling with the keys. He took a step back. What was Neville Longbottom doing in his back garden? It was of course, very possible that it was the real Neville and he had simply flown by broomstick to Privet Drive, after looking up Harry's address in the yellow pages and making the decision not to wear hardly any clothes... or not. For one thing, he hadn't been holding a broomstick.

Harry leaned against the door, a faint smile on his face. The very idea of it was ridiculous. Whoever was masquerading as Neville had obviously forgotten to add some necessary details. But now what was he supposed to do? Leave the fake Neville outside to get wet? It certainly seemed like a good idea, but then the impostor might decide to do something a little more drastic, like blow up the house.

Suddenly the details of Dumbledore's little speech about Harry's mother's protection seemed a little hazy in his mind. How did it work again? Was it only Voldemort that it stopped from getting in or was it all Death Eaters? Anyone with the Dark Mark? Anyone even remotely dark? No, that was rubbish, Lupin had got in last year and Dobby wasn't exactly the angel Gabriel. He was pretty sure it was only Voldemort that couldn't touch him here, but what if 'Neville' was really Voldemort? Harry had had his fair share of experiences with Polyjuice Potion, and there had to be dark spells that could cause one to take the appearance of another. Or a glamour spell, or something?

Harry suddenly wished he'd payed more attention in third year Charms and Transfiguration when they'd done appearance spells. Once he'd found out there was no way he could permanently erase his scar or flatten his hair by magic, he'd tuned out and spent the rest of the topic drawing pictures of Malfoy being eaten by a Hippogriff.

Right, he had to focus. Did he go out there and attack? Concentration kept slipping away, just like when he'd been trying to practice Occlumency earlier – why Neville? If they wanted him to act really reckless then why wasn't it Hermione shivering in the rain? The thought made his blood boil, but less than he thought it might have. He had to face the impostor and fight him. He had to find out who was trying to kill him this time.

His head full of fuzz; he took up the keys again and opened the door, stepping out into the torrent of pouring rain. As soon as he lifted his face into the storm, everything was suddenly much clearer.

Wait – what on earth was he doing outside? He couldn't remember making a conscious decision to open the door – it was almost as if he'd been under a compulsion spell…

Harry turned quickly to look back inside the house – half expecting to see a smug-looking Death Eater holding a wand. Instead the hall looked perfectly normal… except… it seemed to be tinged with a subtle shade of red. When he looked down the air near the floor was darker red and seemed to be moving. Red smoke?

"What the-"

A huge roll of thunder brought Harry back to the matter at hand. He didn't dare go back into the house, he had no way of telling what that red stuff was or what it would do to him. So where to go now? His eyes fell onto the gate that led to the back garden. "Only one way to go," he whispered through the rain, pulling the hood of his cloak over his soaking wet hair.

The boy was standing in exactly the same place he had before, in the centre of the garden in front of the petunia beds. He was no longer shivering. Instead he stood perfectly still amidst the pouring rain, staring up at the window. He didn't even seem to notice Harry when he crept around the gate and appraised the situation. Harry took a step closer. Still the figure did not react. Harry's eyebrows knitted under the hood. Something was very, very wrong here. Taking his chances, he crept around the impostor's back without him moving a muscle, then grabbed the larger boy and twisted his arms behind his back. "Who are you?" he yelled over the storm.

Neville's mind was a blissful blank. It was a relief not to have to worry or think. He didn't feel the rain drumming in his ears, nor the harshness of the cold or the wet grass soaking into his shoes. He was in a place of calm and peace. The people who had given him such a good feeling had taken it away for a few seconds when Harry had come to the window. Was it Harry? He was no longer sure, though it wasn't as though it mattered. For those few seconds, the cold, the pain and the sheer panic had come flooding back and he hadn't been able to do much more than beg Harry to bring it back. But Harry had left and the blissful warmth had returned.

Through the calm, he hardly felt Harry's hands tighten on his own arms and pull them up behind him. Neville heard his friend yell, as though from far away, "Who are you?"

_"Answer him,_" said the voice inside his head. _"Act normally._" And, as Bartemius Crouch had done so many months before, Neville answered. It couldn't be that hard, after all.

"It's me, Harry. It's Neville."

Harry laughed. "You really expect me to believe that, don't you?

_"Keep him talking. Act normally," _said the voice.

"It's me, Harry," said Neville, unable to think of anything else through the stupor.

_"Damn," _said the voice, "_I should have known I'd have to be more specific." _ Neville simply stared blankly into space.

"What now?" Harry growled, as though holding Neville's unresponsive arms in a lock was somehow very hard work. "Do we fight?"

_"Tell him you don't want to fight," _said the voice.

"I don't want to fight," Neville said.

_"Good boy._"

"So what _do_ you want? Who are you? Who sent you?" Harry fired the questions, but Neville did not have the answers.

_"Ask him to help you,"_ the voice muttered.

"Help me," Neville said obediently.

"What?" Even this close, Harry had to yell to be heard over the pounding rain and booming thunder.

"Help me!" Neville yelled.

"_Good," said_ the voice. "_Now, fight him off and get him unconscious. He's smaller than you are."_

Neville's arm was halfway out of Harry's grip before another voice entered his head – his own. What? Fight Harry? That was ridiculous. Harry was a hero, the saviour of the wizarding world. What chance did Neville stand against him?

_"FIGHT HIM!"_

Neville ripped his arms out of Harry's grasp and one fist swung around to knock him back. STOP! His inner voice yelled at him.

Harry didn't have time to realise what was happening before he was on the ground. 'Neville' was standing over him, but not making any further movements. With his face up and unprotected by his hood, the rain smeared Harry's glasses and obscured his vision. He raised a hand to shield his eyes, and could just make out Neville through the blur. He was unmoving, but tense, as though struggling with some inner decision.

"Harry-" Neville said through gritted teeth, hardly audible over another roll of thunder. "Listen – it's me – it's a trick – you've got to…" Harry's elbows were thoroughly encased in mud but somehow he managed to scramble backwards. "Harry please… it's me, I swear – they're coming – don't let them…"

Something red and bright came shooting out of the bushes and crashed into Neville's chest. He screamed and fell over. Someone from behind him swore loudly. "GET HIM!" was the next exclamation. Harry couldn't move. He was staring at Neville's body in the mud. _Sirius…_

"GET THE BOY!!" The words seemed to spur him into action. Getting to his feet and shedding the cloak, he vaulted over the wood fence and sprinted up the street. Over the rain he could hear footsteps behind him, but didn't dare look behind him. He wouldn't be able to see anything anyway… Through the panic he could help but think… where's my Auror? They're supposed to stop things like this from happening...

His old primary school was just up the road, and he knew all the places to hide up there. No one would be inside in the middle of the night, so he wouldn't have to worry about anyone getting hurt.

Getting hurt…. Neville! Harry cursed himself for a million different kinds of stupidity. Even while ducking through the missing plank in the school fence his feet wanted to turn back. But that was stupid – whoever was chasing him was close on his heels and would stop any attempt to double back.

The fence seemed to be slowing them down – his pursuers were apparently too big to fit through the gap.

"DAMN!" he heard one of them yell in a gruff voice.

"Shut up, Crabbe!" yelled another at the top of his voice. This confirmed it – Death Eaters. Harry stifled a laugh at the mental image of Crabbe Senior trying to fit through the gap that Harry had only just managed to squeeze past. He was halfway around the school building when he heard panting from close behind him. One of them had gotten through, and he was sure the others would be in the process of demolishing the fence even as he ran.

At the halfway point, Harry spotted an open window and made for it. All he needed was enough time to turn, gain his balance and draw his wand – and he couldn't do that in mid-run. As soon as he reached it, Harry realised the window wasn't _that_ open. It was latched from the inside. Gritting his teeth he pushed his arm through the gap and fumbled with the catch. He was in a niche behind an out-jutting wall, so with any luck the Death Eater chasing him would simply run right by him before he could realise he had lost his prey. The lock snapped upwards, grazing his fingers, just as a short man in black robes hurtled past.

Harry took his chances and threw himself backwards with the inward swing of the window-frame, knocking several clay models off the sill as he fell. They smashed underneath him and the window slammed shut – Harry got to his feet and turned to see his pursuer behind the glass. What he saw made his blood freeze.

He was face to face with Draco Malfoy.

For a moment, everything seemed to move in slow motion as Malfoy smirked and slowly raised his wand. Harry realised what he was going to do seconds too late. Malfoy took a small step back and yelled; "REDUCTO!"

Harry dove to the side as the window exploded his face. He covered his eyes with his arm, but felt shards of glass pierce his chin and torso. He lay still on a pile of glass and clay as Malfoy, chuckling cruelly, clambered through the shattered remains of the window. He felt as much as heard Malfoy's shoes crunching through the debris to rest near his head, and knew his wand would be pointed straight at his unprotected back. "Not so smart now, Potter," he heard Malfoy mutter.

"Draco?" someone called from outside.

"I've got him father!" Malfoy called back, turning ever so slightly. It was a mistake. Harry swept his arm behind Malfoy's legs and pulled them towards them. Malfoy toppled with an angry yell and Harry sped through the unlocked classroom door into the corridor. The stairs weren't far away, and there was a window in the bathroom on the second floor that allowed you to get onto the roof.

"POTTER!" Malfoy yelled from behind him. Harry was bleeding from a dozen different places and one of the lenses in his glasses was cracked and made the badly painted drawings on the walls look distorted. He'd only just jumped the turn in the stairs before a curse hit the wall where he'd been seconds before and smashed a hole in it the size of his head. He swore and took the stairs three at a time. Somewhere an alarm bell was ringing, which probably meant the police would be here pretty soon, though Harry doubted there was much they could do.

"GET BACK HERE, POTTER!"

Harry's face grew red with anger as his blood surged. Malfoy had some nerve. Harry had always known that Malfoy was destined to be a Death Eater like his father, but hadn't thought it would be this soon. Of course he'd been the only one small enough to get through the gap in the fence. He could have been out of here by now if it hadn't been for Malfoy.

Damn the stupid bathroom window.

Harry banged on the doors all the way down the corridor until he found one that was unlocked and ducked inside. Malfoy must have seen him come in here, but it hardly mattered. Harry drew his wand and hid behind the back of the door until Malfoy rushed in, wand drawn.

"Don't move," Harry ordered him, and Malfoy froze.

"Don't be a child, Potter. There are too many of us."

"Right now, I only see one, Malfoy."

The movement was so quick that Harry wasn't entirely sure that he'd seen it. Malfoy's wand flicked backwards past his shoulder and sent a beam of yellow light hurtling towards Harry's chest. He dodged it – just – and swished his wand twice at Malfoy. "Ossifrango!"

Malfoy screamed and fell to the ground, clutching at his arm. Harry stared. He hadn't expected him to scream like that – Harry hadn't, the first time he'd broken a bone. And Malfoy had deserved it… Harry looked at his wand, dumbly. He was going to get charged with underage wizardry, _again_ – they'd expel him for sure, this time…

"Up here!" The shout from below jolted his dozing brain into action once more. The Death Eaters were on the stairs and Malfoy's screaming was sure to direct them to the right room. The window was two floors off the ground and there were no – wait, there _was _an adjoining classroom in the direction of the stairs, behind the huge poster of the world. Ripping it down with his fingers, Harry tried to shut out the footsteps…

The door banged open and Harry stumbled into his Year 6 classroom. It looked so familiar and yet so different, but he didn't have time to admire the changes. The Death Eaters were right behind him in the room he had just left, but the corridor door let him double around them and back to the stairs again.

_This could go on forever,_ he couldn't help thinking. _I've got to take them all out, somehow. Then go back and get Neville and get the hell out of Surrey. _

Another crater smashed into the wall behind him to match the one left on the stairs. It was hard to run in a straight line when the crack in his glasses was showing him two corridors when there should only have been one. The front door of the school was sure to be locked, as well as all the side doors.

_I've got to get OUT – I've got to get out…_

"Stupify!" someone screeched from behind him. "Impedimenta! Stupify!"

_Well, there's one thing, _Harry thought. _They certainly want me alive._ But for how long, he could not guess. Suddenly it came to him. The PE Hall had an equipment room with a sliding door that led onto the sports field, and that was only latched. He made a sharp turn to the left, causing one of the Death Eaters (Harry was almost certain it was Gregory Goyle's father) to swear loudly and crash into a lego trolley left outside one of the classrooms.

He hurtled through the doors to the hall and ducked behind a punching bag that burst in an explosion of sand as the next curse hit it. Then he made one final sprint to the equipment room door, dashed inside, slammed the door and clicked the catch. Unless one of them thought to blast it open, that would hold them for a while.

The sliding door was large, square and made of corrugated iron. It slid upwards instead of side to side, and Harry had to kneel on the floor to feel for the catch in the dark. He was sure that light would not have helped him very much anyway – Sellotape was not going to fix his glasses this time. The door was very heavy, fastened to the concrete with a metal pin that had to be twisted and tugged the right way. In his panic, Harry seemed to be tugging it the wrong way every time.

"You can't run from in there, Potter!" came Lucius Malfoy's voice from outside. __

They seemed to have stopped trying – the sign on the door only said 'Equipment' and they didn't know about the door. "Let's blast it!" yelled Crabbe or Goyle.

"Don't be an idiot!" yelled another. "There can't be enough space in there to turn around, you'll kill him!" So they did want him alive. Apparently they were either going to pick the catch or starve him out.

The latch came loose with a crunching sound that told Harry it had not been opened in a while and had rusted.

"What was that?"

"I say we blast it open!"

Harry tugged the pin out and threw it aside. He shoved his bleeding fingers into the gap under the door and hauled it upwards, giving him just enough space to crawl out into the beautifully fresh night air. It had stopped raining. He lay on the ground for a few seconds to catch his breath, cradling his bruised knuckles and ripped nails against his chest.

"Hello, Potter."

His heart sank to the bottom of his stomach. He looked up. It was still dark and his vision was distorted and blurred, but there was no mistaking the Death Eater standing over him with a wand pointed directly at his chest. It was Peter Pettigrew.

"Stupify!"

--

Thanks for reading - please let me know what you think!


	3. In Which Harry Gets His First Boat Ride

_Previously: _

_Neville appeared in Harry's back garden and lured him outside where they were set on by Death Eaters. Harry ran to his old primary school, where he broke Draco Malfoy's arm and made a narrow escape before being caught by Peter Pettigrew._

**Evanesco**

**Chapter 2**

**In Which Harry Gets His First Boat Ride**

When he came to, his first thought was that everything hurt. His second thought wasn't so much a thought as an onrush of memory. Groaning, he tried to move but failed miserably. His hands were tied behind his back with either rope or thick cord, and there were similar bindings on his knees and ankles. He was gagged, his glasses had completely disappeared, and he was wearing a blindfold.

He could hardly remember what light looked like.

His face felt crusty as though mud had dried on it. Or blood, he though ruefully. His chest felt sticky and everything about him seemed very unclean. When he sniffed, all his other senses were confused. The smell was a mixture of dirty water, blood, copper, rust, old fish and unwashed boy. It was then he noticed that his right side was not only numb where he'd been lying on it, but very wet. He was lying in a puddle. _Oh, perfect._

"Harry?"

He would have jumped if he'd been able to move an inch. "Mmph?" he asked.

"Harry, you're awake!"

Harry wanted to yell; "Neville, you're alive!" but couldn't. So he settled for: "Mm, mmphahmumpha."

"Hang on a minute, I'll try and get my hands on that blindfold." Harry heard scuffling beside him, and next minute felt something tug at the cloth around his eyes. "Bastards. They sure put this on tight. Hang on a second."

Harry suppressed a wince as Neville's fingers caught in his hair but didn't call out. "Aha!" The other boy said in triumph as the blindfold came off.

It was dark. Very dark. He couldn't see Neville as he was behind him. "Mmpha?"

"Right –sorry." Neville fumbled with the knot of the gag in the darkness, accompanied by swearing that Harry wouldn't have thought him capable of before now. "Damnit!" he exclaimed finally. "Sorry Harry, it won't come off. I'll have to try ripping it."

It was a very painful process – Neville's hands were quite obviously tied behind his back as well and he couldn't see what he was doing, let alone get a proper grip on the cloth. He kept missing and tugging out chunks of hair or pulling Harry's head back to splash in the deeper side of the puddle. Finally the strip tore and Harry was able to breath through his mouth again. He wished he could use his fingers to pinch his nose.

"Thanks," he said, trying out his voice.

"You're welcome," said Neville. "Are you ok? You've been out for hours."

"Feels like days. Where are we?"

"In the hold on a boat."

"What?" Harry gasped. He'd never even seen the sea, let alone ever been on a boat big enough to have a hold. He'd sailed across Hogwarts Lake in a tiny rowing boat that moved on its own, but that was his only claim to seafaring. "On the _ocean_?"

"I guess so. I didn't really get a good look when they transferred me from the trunk to the boat."

"The trunk?" Harry's head was spinning, for some reason.

"Yes. They had this magical trunk – you know, those rare ones that have different insides? I was in one and you were in another one and they drove a van down to the docks. I saw it."

"And you were conscious the whole time?"

"Yes. I don't think they thought about knocking me out once they'd tied me up. They didn't even gag me like you." There was a pause during which Harry couldn't think of anything else to say. "I was too scared to say anything to them, anyway."

Harry felt a horrible rush of guilt. "Neville – I'm so sorry…"

"What for?"

"What _for_? For this! For being kidnapped, cursed, tied up, locked in a trunk and shoved on a boat, what do you think I meant?"

"I'm not nearly as scared as I was back in the trunk. At least you're awake. And none of that stuff was really your fault, you know."

Harry wasn't really listening. "Why you?" he asked, though he wasn't really asking Neville. "Why you? Why not Ron or Hermione or Lupin –" Yet another terrifying thought entered his mind. "Oh no…"

"What? Did something happen to Professor Lupin?"

"It might have. Or to one of the others. I've had Aurors watching me at Privet Drive ever since last summer. Those Death Eaters must have killed at least one to get you anywhere near me…" Suddenly there were a lot more questions Harry wanted to ask Neville, but Neville seemed to read his mind.

"It was the Imperius Curse," he said, quietly. "They knocked me out with this blue smoky stuff, and the next thing I knew I was being shoved into your back garden in the pouring rain, and one of them had his wand on me. He told me to throw rocks at your window to get you to come down, and I wouldn't and…" he trailed off.

"But you fought it," Harry reminded him. "You wouldn't hit me – you told me it was a trick – that _was _you, wasn't it?"

"Yeah," said Neville glumly. "But I still hit you, once."

"Neville," said Harry excitedly. "You_ fought _the_ Imperius Curse._ Do you have any idea how hard that is? Remember when Moo – when Crouch put the curse on us in our fourth year and no one could fight it? Barty Crouch couldn't even fight that curse!"

"You fought it."

"Yeah well, I've had lots of practice with that stuff," Harry said, and then as an afterthought he added; "although apparently not enough."

Neville sighed. "Did you get any of them?"

Harry didn't need to ask what he meant. "I got Malfoy with a bone-breaking curse in his arm, and one of them smashed into a trolley covered in lego."

Neville sniggered. "Hang on – Lucius Malfoy? Isn't he supposed to be in prison?"

If Harry had been able to see Neville, he would have stared at him. "Haven't you been _reading _the Daily Prophet?"

Neville shook his head. "Gran says it's nothing but rubbish. I thought you thought so too."

"Well, it mostly is, but reading between the idle gossip there are usually facts. And it told the truth about Lucius Malfoy. He escaped days ago, with loads of others. Anyway I didn't mean him, I meant Draco Malfoy."

"_Draco _Malfoy_?_"

"Yep. Perfect little Death Eater, he is."

"Well then, I'm glad you broke his arm."

Harry wanted to say that he was as well, but found that he wasn't. He couldn't be glad – not after he had seen what enjoyment of other people's pain could do to someone. He shuddered at the thought of becoming another Voldemort. "Do you know what's ironic?" he said instead. "Even if we do get out of this alive, I'm going to be arrested for Illegal Use of Underage Magic."

"But they'll let you off, won't they?" Neville asked. "I mean, I'm pretty sure _this _counts as an emergency."

"I was attacked by Dementors last year and Fudge put me on trial for using the Patronus charm," Harry reminded him.

"Well, that was before Fudge found out about Voldemort, wasn't it?" Neville pointed out.

"Knowing Fudge, it probably won't make that much difference," Harry said gruffly, but he knew Neville had a point. Fudge was too scared of Voldemort and Dumbledore to attack Harry now.

There was a loud banging noise from somewhere above them. "Uh oh," Neville said. Harry was suddenly struck by the change in Neville. He hadn't really considered it last year, but the Neville he had known in his first year would never have come with him to the Ministry of Magic to rescue Sirius, and would probably have died of fright by now. Harry wondered what had happened to make him change so much.

"Where do you think they're taking us?" Neville asked.

Harry didn't know. He'd never been abroad in his life, not even one step in the sea. It was common knowledge to anyone who'd read 'Hogwarts, a History' (or had Hermione to lecture them on it) that Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was located somewhere in central Scotland, but that was as far as Harry's travelling record went. "Voldemort must have some camp set up in Northern France or somewhere," he suggested, somewhat lamely. "Just over the border so he can get back easily."

"Makes sense," said Neville. "The entire Ministry is looking for him back home." He continued with a report of what he knew about Fudge's search, but Harry already knew and anyway, he'd stopped listening after the words 'back home'. No more complaining to Ron and Hermione that he was the only one who had never been abroad. Harry liked to know where he was, and right now he could be anywhere from the English Channel to the Black Sea.

"I don't like this," he said. "Why aren't there any guards or anything?"

"Can't go far on a boat," Neville said, in a tone that said he'd worked that one out while Harry had been unconscious. Thump. Thump. Thump. Someone was moving around on deck.

"Neville?"

"Yeah?"

"What sort of a boat is this?"

"Not sure. It's big enough to fit about ten of them and the two of us, I guess."

"No chance of swimming back to shore?"

"Can you swim?"

"No," Harry admitted.

"Me neither."

"Oh." Harry knew his plans were insane. They were just the only ones he had at the moment. And what _was _it about Neville? Who did he remind Harry of? "Only one thing to do, in that case."

"What?"

"HEY! DOWN HERE!!" Harry yelled at the top of his voice, which turned out to be dry and scratchy. Almost immediately a door at the top of a ladder opened, letting in daylight. Harry winced and scrunched up his eyes.

"What is it?" the Death Eater snapped. Harry didn't recognise a voice.

"Look, where the hell are we?"

"That's for me to know, and you to find out," said the man in a childish voice. "Now shut up until we get to the other side." He left, slamming the trap door behind him.

"Brilliant," said Harry.

"Harry! Are you mad? I'm surprised he didn't just stun you again!"

"Me too, quite frankly. Well, he was completely unhelpful. The only thing I'm sure of it that they want to keep us alive."

"That's comforting," said Neville. "Look, could you not do that again? I can see why You-Know-Who would want to keep YOU alive, but I can hardly see why I'm necessary. How do we know they won't just kill me to shut you up?"

The thought hadn't even occurred to Harry, and it was so terrifying that once again he could think of nothing to say. "What?" said Neville, sounding quite sincere. "I've read about stuff that happened fifteen years ago. You-Know-Who's done worse."

"Wow, Neville," Harry choked. "I'm sorry…"

"Don't mention it. I just wouldn't… you know, aggravate them."  

Suddenly Harry realised who it was Neville had been reminding him of. His slightly nervous yet practical approach to their problems was almost exactly the way Hagrid would act when giving advice to Harry or his friends. Hagrid was perfectly comfortable around animals of all shapes and sizes, but when it came to people he found it hard to think things through. Neville liked plants, Harry knew, but was uncomfortable around people, and so had to learn about people as he went along. He saw things a different way, just like Hagrid always seemed to do. This peculiar affinity seemed to have grown over their years at Hogwarts, and especially last year when he'd been in the DA and some people had even started to admire him for his improvement in Defence.  

"Neville?"

"Yeah?"

Harry thought. He hadn't really worked the conversation through to this point. "Nothing."

Not much was said after that. Harry thought he might have slept – though that seemed impossible as his face was half submerged in water and the glass cuts on his chin were stinging. But whether it was genuine sleep, simple drowsiness or some calm form of panic he had not yet known, he was woken from it by a loud bang somewhere beside them. He swore as the floor beneath him moved and he was tossed sideways, Neville landing on top of him.

"What's happening?" Neville yelled.

"I don't know!"

They could hear shouting from above them. "Have we stopped?" Neville asked, doing his best to roll off Harry. Harry didn't think it would sound very intelligent to say 'I don't know' again, so he didn't answer. They didn't seem to have stopped, though. The floor was still bobbing up and down and making him feel sick. Then there was another, softer bump that only sent them rolling a little way. Harry landed on his face and had to conjure up a lot of effort to roll over before he drowned in bilge-water.  Now, instead of bobbing up and down, they seemed to be rocking gently from side to side.

"Do you think we've crashed?" he whispered, having never heard the term 'run aground'.

"If we have, we'll know soon enough," said Neville nervously. "This is the first place water will come up if there's a hole somewhere."

"Maybe one of them will remember to get us out before we sink," Harry said, without much hope. Though as it turned out, they didn't have to wait long before the door above them creaked open and someone came all the way down the ladder, followed by three other someones.

"Who is it?" Harry whispered. "I can't see anything!"

"There's two big men, a smaller man, and Malfoy with his arm in a sling," Neville said, trying to sit up. "What's the matter, Malfoy – get on the wrong side of a Hippogriff again?"

"I hardly think you're in any position to make jokes, Longbottom," Malfoy sneered as the two large men who could only be Mr. Crabbe and Mr. Goyle, came around behind the two boys and started to untie them. Malfoy then looked at Harry, who was squinting up at him.

"Oh dear, Potter," Malfoy chuckled. "Can't you see properly? We can't have that." He held out Harry's glasses. "Here you are. My father fixed them and put an unbreakable charm on them. Honestly, I can't think why you didn't think of that before."

Harry had, but even simple charms had to be renewed after a while, and his must have worn off during the early weeks of summer when he couldn't use his wand. He wasn't going to tell Malfoy that, though, since _he_ seemed to have found a way around the Restriction for the Use of Underage Magic. "Thanks, Malfoy," he said bitterly, taking his glasses and putting them on while Crabbe moved around to untie his knees and ankles. "I don't suppose you're going to give me my wand back, too?"

Malfoy raised his eyebrows to accompany his sneer. "I don't _think_ so, Potter. Believe me, I'd have much rather have you trussed up like chickens all the way there, but unfortunately it would be much harder to move you around if you couldn't walk, or see where you were going."

Harry inwardly rejoiced. Malfoy, without realising it, was an absolute goldmine of information. "Why don't you just keep us in the magic trunks?" Harry asked. "That wasn't a problem before."

"Draco!" the fourth Death Eater snapped. "Shut up and be helpful, or go suck up to Daddy like you usually do."

Harry couldn't quite suppress a snigger. "And you," said the man, kicking Harry in the side. "Say a single word once we get out and you'll be stunned, get it?"

Harry didn't have a chance to answer before Crabbe had shoved his hands under Harry's arms and pulled him upright. Harry hadn't stood for about six hours, and his ankles were sore. Crabbe had to steady him before he could stand by himself. This sign of weakness made Harry angry at himself and his stomach turned, although that might have just been the seasickness rising in his throat now that he was standing.

"If you're going to throw up, do it in here before we go ashore," said the fourth Death Eater sharply. Harry didn't want to, he really didn't, but his knees suddenly felt like jelly and his chin was stiffening. His entire stomach came up on the floor. He could almost hear Malfoy smiling. He heard Neville swear softly and wished he could do the same.

"Well, this is all very nice," said the fourth Death Eater, sarcastically. "But we're wasting time. Let's go ashore."

Malfoy hung back to whisper a commentary to Harry as they were half pushed, half tugged through the trap door. "That's Barnabus Travis," he said. "He's renowned for his torture methods. I wouldn't annoy him if I were you."

"Like you're doing, you mean?" Harry spat.

Malfoy said nothing, but wiped his sleeve with a handkerchief in distaste.

Harry must have slept for longer than he had thought because night had once more come around, and even with his glasses on it was hard to see anything on shore. They seemed to be at some sort of dock because Harry could hear water sloshing against the pier. It was also freezing. "You ok?" he whispered to Neville.

"Yes," Neville replied, but his teeth were chattering.

"Shut up!" Travis growled, whacking Harry around the back of the head and glaring at Neville.

"All right," Harry muttered. "All _right_."

They had to jump the gap between boat and dock, and it gave both boys a split second of freedom. Before they could make any move however, they were quickly grabbed again from behind and forced to march to where a large van was waiting. It was so big it was more like a truck.

"I hate these Muggle modes of transportation," Harry heard someone whisper from behind them. Travis whipped round and glared, but couldn't single out the culprit. Nott leaned out of the driver's window. "Gottem?" he mumbled.

"Of course, Nott," Travis snapped. "Where's Malfoy?"

Nott jerked a thumb in the direction of the passenger seat. Travis lowered his voice considerably. "What about… the other one?" The passenger door slammed, and Lucius Malfoy came around the hood.

"What was that, Barnabus?"

"Nothing, Lucius. Where do you want the boys?"

"There are ropes in the back. Draco, come here." Malfoy drew his son aside and starting talking quietly. Travis snapped his fingers at Crabbe and Goyle, who pushed Harry and Neville to the back of the van while some other random Death Eaters pulled the door open. A silver hand reached out of the darkness and with terrifying strength, pulled Harry up. Harry found himself looking into Wormtail's face. Sirius' one time friend didn't meet Harry's eyes.

"Finally," he snapped at Travis as he hauled Neville up as well. "What took you so long?"

"Trouble with the boat," one of the others sneered. "I still don't see why more of us couldn't have apparated."

Travis rounded on the speaker. "Mulciber! I should have known it was you earlier. One more complaint out of you and I'll _report _you, hear?"

Mulciber went pale and backed off. The rest of the Death Eaters piled into the van. "Keep your ears open," Harry whispered. "They might say something important."

"I'm surprised you have the capacity to apparate, Pettigrew," Travis sneered.

"Give it a rest, will you?" Wormtail snapped. "You got the better job, believe me. Lucius and Theodore haven't stopped bickering since we left Surrey."

"At least you didn't get stuck with the moron squad and the three brats."

"Three?"

"Have you _met _that Malfoy kid?"

Wormtail hissed. "Be quiet, he'll hear you. Someone help me with these two."

Harry and Neville soon found themselves tied up again and shoved to the very back of the van – or the front, depending on how you look at it. Travis went out briefly, then came back in, shutting the door behind him. "Master Malfoy is sitting up front with his father," he announced bitterly, before pushing his way through the Death Eaters – who seemed to be making themselves comfortable on the floor – to Wormtail's side.

"What _is _it, Travis?"

"Just making sure you don't make a mistake, Pettigrew."

"They're not going anywhere, Barnabus," Wormtail pointed out, nodding at the black robed figure who was closing the van doors behind Travis.

"Why are we doing it this way?" Travis suddenly asked Peter. "There are so many better ways we could have done this. What's _wrong _with Malfoy?"

"Lucius got his orders from the Master," Pettigrew said stiffly.

"Then he's not following them correctly!"

Without warning, Pettigrew's silver hand was suddenly around Travis' throat. "Are you questioning the Master's judgement?"

Travis eyes were wide in shock. "No," he choked, scrabbling against the substance that was not flesh.

"Good," said Wormtail, oblivious to the man's struggling. "Because if you were, I'd have to do a little bit of _reporting_ of my own, understand?"

Travis tried to speak, but all that came out was a strangled gurgle. "What was that?" Wormtail asked, releasing him. Travis slid backwards, nursing his bruised throat.

"I understand," he said.

"Good," Pettigrew said again, turning his gaze on the two boys. Neville's mouth was wide open in horror. "What are you two staring at?"

Harry's hands were tied in front this time, making it easier to move. He touched Neville's knee, and they looked at each other. Somehow they could both tell that the nightmare was only just beginning.


	4. In Which The Discovery Is Made

A/N: Hey, everyone – sorry about the wait but this chapter was very slow to write, for some reason. So I won't hold you up – here it is.

_Previously: _

_-Neville appeared in Harry's back garden and lured him outside where they were set on by Death Eaters. Harry ran to his old primary school, where he broke Draco Malfoy's arm and made a narrow escape before being caught by Peter Pettigrew._

_-Harry and Neville found themselves tied up on a boat. They met Barnabus Travis, a Death Eater with some power. They landed in the dark and were forced onto a huge Muggle van. Pettigrew revealed how much power the hand gives him over the other Death Eaters, including Travis. Lucius Malfoy, Draco Malfoy and Nott are sitting up front, all the others are in the back with the two boys._

**Evanesco**

**Chapter 3**

**In Which the Discovery is Made and Malfoy is Annoying**

Ron Weasley was lying with his back against the headboard of his bed at 12, Grimmauld Place, staring at the magazine in his hands with unseeing eyes. He was torn between anger and worry. Harry usually replied to his and Hermione's letters with hours of them being sent, but, only two hours or so ago, Hedwig had arrived alone, without a note, but without any sign of abuse or a struggle. Lupin and Arthur had been the only people in the house at the time, and when Ron and Hermione rushed downstairs to tell them the news, they had refused to leave until there was someone there to look after the two teenagers. Dumbledore's orders had been that all Order Members travel in at least pairs, and the house never left unattended.

Hermione had tried to calm him down. "Are you MAD?" Ron had yelled at his father. "What if something's HAPPENED?"

"There's probably a perfectly reasonable explanation, Ron," Arthur had said calmly, but they could all see the fear in his eyes. "Perhaps Hedwig just dropped Harry's reply."

"Hedwig's _never_ failed Harry before! And Harry told her to come to us if ever something happened to him!"

"Ron," Lupin had said. "Owls are magical to a certain degree. But they have quite short term memories. There's almost no way she could have remembered an instruction Harry gave her weeks ago."

"What would _you _know about it?" Ron spat. "I've known Harry and Hedwig for much longer than you have, and I _know _something like this wouldn't happen unless something was wrong!"

"Ron," Hermione had whispered, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Your Dad's right. Harry can take care of himself – we'll wait until Charlie or your mum gets home."

Luckily, that hadn't been long in coming. As soon as Mrs Weasley had opened the front door, Mr. Weasley and Lupin had shot out of it. Ron had left Hermione to give the hurried explanation, while he stomped up the stairs, Hedwig fluttering along behind him.

Now, Hermione put her head around the door. "Is it safe?" she asked.

"Do what you want," Ron muttered.

Hermione came fully into the room, slamming the door behind her. Ron jumped and put down the magazine. "Ron Weasley! I can't believe you'd be so selfish to take this out on, above all people, me!"

"What?" said Ron, "I wasn't –"

"I'm _just _as worried about Harry as you are, Ron. And you know your dad and Lupin are as well."

"They weren't _acting_ very worried –"

"But that's not their _fault_! Dumbledore _specifically _said –"

"Damn Dumbledore!" Ron pushed himself roughly off the bed and stood to face Hermione. She was easily three inches shorter than him, but the glare in her eyes still made him want to sit back down again. He didn't, though. "Remember what use Dumbledore's orders were last year? All they did was nearly get Harry expelled!"

Hermione screamed at him for a few minutes, which oddly made him feel better – until there was a startled exclamation from downstairs. Ron and Hermione looked at each other, forgot their argument in a second and raced out of the door and onto the landing.

Tonks was standing in the hallway, supported on either side by Arthur and Lupin. She was barely recognisable under a heavy coating of blood and dirt. It was Molly who had screamed, and she who was helping her husband to get Tonks into the living room.

"Oh no!" Hermione gasped, and took the stairs three at a time. Ron followed her.

"Get back," Lupin ordered them when they stumbled into the living room. "I'm going to call Albus, Arthur."

"Right," said Mr. Weasley, who had his wand out and was applying basic cleansing charms to Tonks' body. _Not_ her body, Ron thought desperately. It's just Tonks.

"Is she-" Hermione stammered.

"She's alive," said Arthur. "Now do as Remus says."

Hermione obediently pulled Ron back. The next second, Remus had reappeared in the doorway, Albus Dumbledore hot on his heels. Dumbledore said nothing, instead he knelt beside Arthur, held out his hand with the fingers spread and the palm down, and passed it over the still form of Tonks.

"She will live," said Dumbledore. "As long as we get her to a hospital quickly."

Ron felt terrible for asking, but he _had _to know. "What about Harry?"

"What about Harry?" Dumbledore asked quickly.

"We went to Privet Drive because Hedwig arrived here without a note," Lupin told the Headmaster. "The house looked undisturbed but there were police cars all around an area further up the street. The building looked like some kind of a school. We asked around and it appears there was a break in last night."

"Nothing was taken," Arthur continued. "But there were broken windows and things knocked over. Also some blood on the floor of one of the classrooms."

"And Tonks?" Dumbledore asked.

"We made a perimeter search around number four first, just to be safe," Lupin said. "We were just about to go in and look for Harry when – well, I nearly tripped over her!"

"She was hidden in a bush behind the house," said Arthur. "It looked like someone had pushed her in there and put leaves over the top. I ran into the house – Harry's relatives seemed… very confused, as though they'd been drugged."

"And Harry?" Ron asked again.

Lupin met his eyes sadly. "He wasn't there, Ron. I'm sorry."

Ron could almost feel the colour drain from his face.

Lupin looked at Dumbledore. "Albus?"

Dumbledore was pale too. He stood up, and cleared his throat. "I'm afraid," he said, "that this is all my fault."

"You think You-Know-Who might have found a way to bridge the protection on the house, sir?" Arthur asked.

"No," said Dumbledore. "You all are aware – if only vaguely, that I spoke with Harry at the end of last year after the … incident at the Department of Mysteries. During that meeting I gave Harry some very unwelcome news, the details of which I cannot divulge to you."

"So?" said Ron. "What's that got to do with anything?"

"It is my unfortunate belief," Dumbledore continued with sorrow in his voice. "That Harry was not yet ready to face up to the terrible reality of the news that I gave him. Death Eaters would have killed Tonks, or put her under the Imperius Curse for use as a spy in our midst. They also would have killed Harry's relatives instead of merely drugging them."

Everyone stared at him, unable to even consider the point Dumbledore was trying to put across.

The old man sighed. "It appears that Harry Potter has finally left us. For good."

**--**

Harry could not sleep, even though it had to be at least six in the morning. Nearly all the Death Eaters had removed their outer robes and were sleeping on pallets. Harry recognised some of them, but not all – some of them were quite young. Neville had drawn in his breath through his teeth in a startled hiss when one of them had removed his hood. "Harry – that's Oliver Farwell!" he whispered frantically. "He was in seventh year when we were in second!"

"I know," Harry had muttered. "Looks like Voldemort is gathering more than just his old followers. He wants fresh blood." Then the Death Eater watching them had glared pointedly at him, and he hadn't spoken again. Neville's terrifying assumption as to why he was here with Harry had still not left his mind.

It seemed like months since his only worries had been getting his OWL results and trying to get through the rest of the year without thinking too much about Sirius. Now it appeared he was going to struggle to keep both himself and Neville alive through the next week.

Most of them were asleep now, he noticed, looking around. He couldn't think how – the road was bumpy and the van really didn't seem all that stable to him. One side of his mouth rose slightly as he thought; _Well, Toto. We're definitely not in Kansas anymore. _Harry had guessed France, Neville had thought they might be a bit further along due to the length of the boat journey. Thinking about the boat made him retch slightly and he stared hard at the ceiling until it went away. Feelings of nausea had no place in a vehicle that was bouncing halfway off its wheels at every turn.

"Harry?"

Harry shifted slightly so that he could see Neville. His face was visibly pale, even in the dim light, and his eyes, that earlier had been merely determined, were darting sideways in fear.

"Yeah?"

"Where are we?"

Harry sighed. "I don't know, Neville. I just don't know."

"I think I'm going to be sick."

Harry wished he could reach Neville properly, if not to comfort him then to cover his mouth and prevent him from doing any such thing.

"Please don't. They'll have to stop soon."

"Why?"

Harry wasn't sure why he'd said that. He somehow managed to think his half-formulated theory through before explaining. "Do you see any food or water anywhere? They might not be planning to feed us, but these Death Eaters have to eat. Could you imagine the state Malfoy would be in after days without food? They'll have to stop to pick up something."

"What if they just stop for a few minutes and then they start up again?"

"Well, then you'll have a few minutes of non-bumpy sitting in the dark."

Neville groaned. Their guard – one of the younger Death Eaters Harry didn't recognise, stirred but didn't say anything.

"Shhh," Harry whispered. "I think they're all asleep now."

"Good," said Neville, managing to be sarcastic even in his weakened state. Something had definitely changed about Neville. "This is our chance to escape. Let's climb over all these people with our hands and ankles tied – and jump out of the back of the moving van into the road."

"Good plan," said Harry. "With just a few tiny flaws."

"No kidding."

Just then the van went over another huge bump and Harry lost his balance, toppling on top of the guard, who woke with a curse. Others had been woken too, and soon muffled complaints were coming from every direction.

"What are they doing?" Travis muttered.

"This is ridiculous," Mulciber growled, dodging a kick from Travis as he tried to stand up, but was thrown over backwards again by the force of the next bump.

"Why do I get the feeling we're not on the road anymore?" Harry whispered.

"Quiet, all of you!" Pettigrew hissed. He hadn't spoken loudly, but silence fell in seconds. It was clear that it wasn't just Harry and Neville who had seen Travis being nearly strangled by Wormtail earlier.

The van was slowing down. When it had stopped completely, Wormtail pushed open the doors and ran round to the drivers' seats. The others stared out of the open doors. They were in the middle of nowhere in the early hours of the morning. Trees and overgrown vegetation surrounded them, and the trail of broken stalks behind them seemed to indicate that they'd simply crashed through it without a road or even a path.

Pettigrew reappeared at the doors with Nott. "Out all of you," Nott rasped. His voice sounded as though someone had recently been messing with his vocal chords.

"What's going on?" Travis sneered as he slid out of the van.

"We're stopping here for the day," said Nott. "We move by night only."

"Great," Harry heard the guard mutter. "Another one of Malfoy's scatterbrained ideas."

"Did I hear something from back there?" Pettigrew snapped.

"No sir," the guard called back. "Just one of the kids mutterin'."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "We did not!" he protested.

"Shut up," said Pettigrew, waving his hand in a 'get out now' gesture. Reluctantly the Death Eaters piled out of the van, which by now Harry was pretty sure he could call a truck. It took him back to his second year, when Mr. Weasley had shown him how the blue Ford Anglia was bigger on the inside. The vehicle they were now riding in looked like an ordinary worker's van from the outside, but somehow managed to fit at about twelve people in the back plus the driver and two passengers. Harry's mouth curled into a half smile as he wondered what the Muggles would think if they were stopped by the police for a routine check.

"What are you grinning at?" Oliver Farwell sneered as he grabbed Harry's collar and dragged him forwards. It was a two foot drop from the edge of the truck and Harry landed hard on his knees before over balancing onto his side. The Death Eaters laughed cruelly as Neville received the same treatment.

When Harry rolled over – his legs twisted uncomfortably under him, he could see Malfoy leaning against a tree nearby. But he wasn't smirking – or even sneering. He was frowning thoughtfully. The expression almost looked wrong on his face.

"Clear a small area," Lucius Malfoy barked. "Small, mind. Put up your tents further into the woods. Anyone sees a Muggle – avoid it if possible – no screaming and no killing. We can't lose time trying to hide a body or food trying to feed one. Draco, set up a tent over there."

"Why can't we sleep in the truck?" Malfoy complained, but apparently without much conviction. Lucius Malfoy's eyes narrowed. "Draco – what did I just say to you?" Malfoy could only meet his father's eyes for a few seconds before looking away. "Yes father."

"That's better. Farwell, put them over there." Malfoy waved vaguely in the same direction he'd ordered his son to set up a tent in.

Harry, even as they were once again dragged along the ground and arranged side by side against a large rock, got the feeling that he and Neville were not Lucius Malfoy's number one priority. The number one candidate for Voldemort's right hand man seemed to have other things on his mind.

TBC


	5. In Which Draco Malfoy Has Serious Parent...

A/N: Well after much growling and grumbling because ffnet deleted one of my stories and denied me postage access for almost two weeks, here is chapter four. The next chapter of From Age to Age the Same has been posted too, so double reading goodness! So, here it is – Please please PLEASE let me know what you think – encouragement is always fun but it's hard to work without much feedback :P

Also, a couple of people have been begging for a short sequel to Fifth Year (which SO needs a revamp, but I don't have time) and the answer to all these inquiries is – maybe! I'm having some problems with inspiration at the moment – and one of the reasons fifth year died so quickly is because I just ran out of ideas. But I'm pretty sure I could whip up a one shot sequel. BUT YOU HAVE TO REVIEW THIS FIRST. Ok?

Naw, I'm not manipulative.

Love,

Laterose.

--

_Previously: _

_-Neville appeared in Harry's back garden and lured him outside where they were set on by Death Eaters. Harry ran to his old primary school, where he broke Draco Malfoy's arm and made a narrow escape before being caught by Peter Pettigrew._

_-Harry and Neville landed in the dark and were forced onto a Muggle van that's bigger on the inside. Accompanying them are Draco & Lucius Malfoy, Nott, Travis and several other Death Eaters. _

_-Lucius Malfoy stopped the truck in the middle of a forest. ­­_

**Evanesco**

**Chapter 4 – In Which Draco Malfoy has Serious Parenting Issues.**

"What do you mean, left?" Ron managed to choke out on his fourth breath. Hermione squeaked something unintelligible in agreement.

"It was too much," Dumbledore muttered almost to himself, passing his hands over Tonks' broken arm. It shifted slightly. "That kind of weight was never meant to be borne on the shoulders of a teenage boy."

"What – so he just ran off?" Ron spluttered.

"That is my fear."

"But Harry wouldn't _do_ that," Hermione protested, as Ron seemed to be suffering from some form of apoplexy and couldn't continue his argument. "Professor Lupin – tell him!"

No one had ever seen Lupin so grim, except perhaps for the days after Sirius' death. "That depends on what you told him," he addressed Dumbledore directly.

Dumbledore did not meet his former student's eyes. "That, only Harry can tell you," he said. "And he is gone."

"Stop talking about him like he's dead!" Ron yelled. "Look – I know Harry. Even if he had run away – and I wouldn't blame him, the things he has to put up with at his Aunt and Uncle's house – he would never ever do anything like this to Tonks – to anyone!"

"It's not a case of whether he would or not, Ron," Lupin said quietly. "It's whether he could, right Headmaster?"

Dumbledore nodded sadly. "This has long been my fear," he said. "Harry has great power, but not the ability to control it. If he lets his fear and anger take control of his power, there is no telling what might happen."

Ron was lost. He looked hopelessly at Hermione, who seemed to have calmed considerably, and was wearing her studious expression. "Are you saying," she said slowly, "that Harry might become another Voldemort?"

"What?" Ron exclaimed. "He didn't say that – when did he say that?"

"Quite correct, Miss Granger, as always," said Dumbledore. He looked as though all his years had come crashing down on him in one go. 'Except possibly worse, I'm afraid."

"Stop it!" Ron yelled. He didn't want to hear this – he shouldn't have to be hearing it. "Stop saying you're afraid! 'I'm afraid', 'it is my fear'," he mimicked, "you're not meant to get afraid – especially not of Harry! You may all be willing to give up on him just like that - well I'm his best friend and I'm not going to. He's going to come back – you'll see."

And with that, he stormed up the stairs to his room. Hermione made to follow him – but turned when she reached the door.

"Professor," she asked quietly. "Do you think he will come back?"

"I do not doubt it," Dumbledore told her. "What I do not know is the state of mind in which he will return."

When Hermione had left, Dumbledore turned to Lupin, Arthur and Molly. "Tonks will have to go to St. Mungos."

"The press will get wind of this, Albus," said Mrs. Weasley.

Dumbledore sighed. "I know it," he said. "It can't be helped. If you must answer a question they ask you, try not to give too many details. I'll contact the other Order members and there'll be an emergency meeting tomorrow at noon." He closed the door softly behind him.

The remaining conscious people in the room looked at each other. It was clear to all of them – though none could bear to say it out loud – that Albus Dumbledore was on the verge of giving up.

Draco Malfoy was having what could easily be described the worst overall week of his life. He'd had worse days – a few lost Quidditch matches came to mind, as did the incident in his fourth year when he'd been turned into a rodent by a certain Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher.

But this had just been a succession of bad days, starting with his father announcing that they were going on a mission. He'd been jubilant at first – until he'd realised that it was going to be more than a hit and run job. It was a hit, capture, run and deliver job that could take weeks, if not months. Then he'd been told that the job was to involve his least favourite person in the world – Harry Potter – and he hadn't minded so much.

Until the bastard had broken his arm. Then he'd started getting fed up with the whole affair and had let his father know about it. Lucius Malfoy, under a lot of stress after his escape from Azkaban, had also shared his feelings. With a curse.

Draco's mother called it stress. Draco called it insane. No one could be in Azkaban prison for more than a day without it affecting them.

The boat trip had been hell – no one had followed his orders but a couple of the more uncouth idiots had laughed at him and called him 'Lord of the Manor'.

Then, as if someone had heard him reassuring himself that the situation couldn't possibly get any worse, one of them had told his father he'd been slowing down the trip. Draco had had to sit for hours listening to his father rant about how he was disgracing the family name and bringing dishonour on the house. _As if the house needed any more dishonour,_ Draco thought bitterly. _I'm not the one who got himself chucked into Azkaban. Mad as a brush._

And now, he was sleeping on the ground. Perfect. He tried to convince himself it was better than the passenger seat of a moving van, and failed.

If he poked his head out of the tent flap he could only just see his father leaning against the side of the vehicle out of the corner of his eye if he craned his head all the way around. Lucius had picked the spot for Draco's tent so that he wouldn't be able to see what his father was doing over there. Angry, Draco turned to the other side so he could see the prisoners. They were whispering to each other. Potter looked like he was trying to comfort Longbottom. _Pathetic_, Draco thought. He'd had a momentary lapse of sense earlier when the boys had been dragged out of the truck and dumped on the ground when he'd wondered – what was the point of that? They hadn't done anything.

_Stop that,_ his inner voice said. _You're evil. That's what you do._

He'd had to think about it, though.

Draco jumped. Potter had spotted him staring at them and was glaring straight back at him.

"What do you want, Malfoy?"

"What? Nothing."

Potter squinted at him. "You're acting even weirder than usual, Malfoy. Hope it isn't sour grapes about the other day."

The old sneer finally found its way back onto Draco's face. "Why would I have sour grapes? We won, didn't we?"

"What happened to your sling, Malfoy?" Longbottom chimed in. "Someone finally get around to fixing your arm for you?" Something was different about Longbottom.

"I say, Longbottom. When did you grow a backbone?"

Longbottom made a futile attempt to glare. Potter put a hand on his ankle. "Leave it, Neville. Malfoy's just tickled 'cos his Daddy is paying more attention to us than he is to him."

The most irritating thing about this was that it was true. Draco made out he didn't care and pulled the tent flap shut, violently. He hoped it rained. That'd show Potter and his new half-witted sidekick.

Feeling very undignified and glad that no one could see him, Draco turned around so his back was facing the tent flap. He took his wand slowly from his pocket and touched it gently to the back wall of the tent. "_Discerpo_," he whispered, and his wand drew a thin slit in the canvas.

Ready to duck out of sight at any time, Draco pulled the slit slightly apart and peeked through it.

The Death Eaters had at last settled, some muttering mutinously amongst themselves at the inconvenience of the stop. Lucius Malfoy seemed to be keeping watch, although it seemed to Harry that he was waiting for something in particular to happen.

"I hate Malfoy," Neville muttered under his breath. "I absolutely hate him. He's picked on me ever since we started Hogwarts and I'm not having it anymore. Him and his goons can just watch out."

Harry, distracted, half smiled at this. "Neville, last time you took on Crabbe and Goyle by yourself you were unconscious in the Hospital wing for almost a whole day."

"Good point," said Neville, picking at a root embedded in the ground. "I'll just wait till I've got Malfoy alone in a corridor, somewhere."

He's talking as though he thinks everything's still ok, Harry realised. He actually believes that we're going back to Hogwarts in September.

"Will you let me watch?" he asked, not meeting Neville's eyes but watching Lucius Malfoy pace slowly over on the opposite side of the tiny man-made clearing.

"Sure," said Neville. "As long as you hide somewhere and don't interf-"

"Shut up," Harry whispered. "Look over there."

Something was coming out of the trees. No one else had noticed it yet except Malfoy, who'd taken quiet hold of his wand.

"What is-"

"Shut up," Harry said again. "Watch."

The thing emerging from the woods was a figure in black. Malfoy replaced his wand and moved over to it. A couple of the assembled Death Eaters looked up, noticed and punched their neighbours, and soon everyone was staring up at the two.

The figure lowered its hood, Harry frowned, and Neville hissed softly. It was Bellatrix Lestrange. She'd washed and combed her hair, and it looked quite pretty as she pulled it out from her cloak and let it fall in a sheet down her back. Her face was clean and white, and her black robes showed no sign of dirt or travel. But her eyes, Harry could tell even from this distance – were madder than ever.

"Hello, Bellatrix," said Lucius, taking her hand, gently.

"Lucius," Bellatrix giggled, lifting her other hand and touching Malfoy's forehead. "Poor, silly Lucius. Who's been a naughty boy, then?"

"Hush, Bellatrix. Welcome to our fold."

"You _have _been naughty, you know. Someone will have to punish you. Won't that be nice, Lucius my sweet? You should be punished."

"Yes," said Lucius, apparently unaware that ten Death Eaters were observing the entire spectacle. "I know. I got you something – just what you wanted. Do you want to see them?"

"To see what? What to see? What to spy? I spy, with my little eye…" the mad witch turned until she was looking right at Harry and Neville. "Two little boys," she said. "Two little toys. One is black, and one is brown, both are scared, and both tied down."

Neville was shivering. "She's crazy," Harry muttered. "Don't listen to her – she's insane… they're both insane…"

Suddenly Bellatrix reached out and grabbed the front of Malfoy's robes. "What do they say?" she demanded of him. "They talk behind my back, hear? Little rats, squeaking away, they are!"

"Nothing to worry about," Malfoy told her. "Fear not."

"Fear? I fear nothing." Bellatrix' eyes swivelled from the boys to the van. Her smile widened. "What a pretty carriage you've brought for me, my sweet," she said, putting her thin arms around Malfoy's neck. "Let me see inside?"

Malfoy smiled slowly. It disgusted Harry and he closed his eyes for a second. When he opened them again, Malfoy was helping Bellatrix to climb into the back of the van. Without even looking at any of his colleagues, he pulled the door shut.

"I hate her," Neville murmured to himself. "I hate her, I hate her, I hate her."

"Don't," Harry whispered. "She's trying to scare you. Don't let her get to you." He spoke with little confidence. The truth was, Harry had seen a lot of terrifying things in the last five years – but for some reason, Bellatrix scared him a lot more than Voldemort or anyone else ever had.

Draco distractedly let his fingers fall from the slit he'd made in the tent wall. He stared dumbstruck into thin air, almost unable to move. Anger and confusion froze him in place.

"What is she doing here?" he asked himself. Sitting up, he pressed the palms of his hands hard against his eyes as if it would make the image of his father and Bellatrix Lestrange vanish from his mind. He'd never felt more belligerent towards his father than at this moment.

His mother would throw a fit.

Azkaban had definitely driven Lucius Malfoy to the brink of insanity.

What sickened Draco the most was that both Potter and Longbottom had witnessed the whole frightful exhibit. What had the mad witch said? _Two little boys – two little toys.__ One is black, and one is brown – both are scared, and both tied down._ Draco didn't care much for the woman's rhyming skills. Longbottom didn't even have brown hair, it was more sort of sandy…

Stop it, Draco. You're losing it. You're being pushed over the edge. Focus.

Draco leaned over and pinched open the slit. A ray of sunlight made a yellow line across his knees. He punched the ground, hard, then nursed his hand and prayed for night to come.

--

Must I give you the inspirational review giving speech again? (sigh) oh very well. REVIEW!!!! (hugs)

Haha.

Love,

Laterose


	6. In Which There Is More Evidence

Hey, guys! I'm sorry I'm so dreadfully late on this one, exams, you know. Also, laziness. But now we're getting into the more juicy stuff I should be writing faster. I'm going to do my first set of review responses now.

sak, Sword Wielder – Firebreath, Thom Verdace, niftysweet, chaser1, JeanieBeanie33, shelly101 (six times!), Mariah Nerissa, oasis, I'm Not the Weakest Link, preoperative, Cynthia, Aimee Breuker, desperate need for an update, rosiegirl.

citcat299 – Fear not. Drusilla is a good model for Bellatrix but they're too different to be totally taken off each other.

ParanoiaIn2005 – Hey first of all, thanks for the huge review ;) and also for your stories and the great stories on your favourites list that gave me several days of reading pleasure. Yes, guilt complexes are great. I thought someone else other than Harry ought to have one in this story, so I pinned it on everyone except poor Ron, who gets picked on way too much. I'm hoping your question will be mostly answered in this chapter. But the Death Eaters aren't doing this to be menacing, they'd rather no one ever found out about either boy being missing. Thanks, I'm glad you like Draco's perspective. Get used to it, because I'm hoping to use the POVs of all three boys throughout the whole story. -hint-. Thanks again for your great review!

**Evanesco**

**Chapter Five**

**In Which There Is More Evidence, and They Still Don't Know Where They Are**

After two hours, the sun was rising over the tops of the trees. Light lay in dappled patches on the ground and a soft wind rustled the leaves.

Harry kicked a heel into the undergrowth. He was more angry than afraid now, angry – and bored.

"You'd think there'd be taunts to pass the time," he muttered to Neville as he peered through the gaps between the tents to the van, around which some of the Death Eaters had set up chess games or dealt cards among the leafy mast. Four of them were gathered around a map, arguing over the route they had taken so far and where they should go next.

Some of the men had removed their black robes, and sat in thin shirts, trousers and cloaks, their masks carelessly tossed aside.

"I can't wait to tell Tom his men are lounging around gambling," he continued. "I bet he thinks they stand up in their robes the whole time."

"I never really thought of Death Eaters being actual people," Neville said, looking over with interest as one of the younger men whooped and collected his winnings. "Apart from the ones we know, like Malfoy, and now Travis and Pettigrew…"

Of course Neville knew about Wormtail, Harry realised. It had all been in the Quibbler article Rita Skeeter had written last year, at the request of Hermione and – well, mostly Hermione, he recalled fondly. Now he thought about it, he couldn't even remember how he'd explained the presence of the supposedly-dead Pettigrew at the scene of Voldemort's rebirth, but right now he really couldn't care less.

"I guess I thought of them as nameless henchmen, like the Dementors," Neville continued. "Isn't that weird?"

"Not really," said Harry. "I was like that, before I learned most of their names. Some of these younger ones though…" he shook his head, "some of them might even have wives and kids who support the Light, or at least the Ministry…"

There was a snort from the tent directly in front of them. Harry glowered when he realised who had been eavesdropping. "Think something's funny, Malfoy?" he spat. The tent flap was pulled aside. Malfoy too, had removed his robes to reveal wizarding underclothes in the latest fashion. The sleeve of his black, button-less shirt came to halfway down his forearm, with silver embroidery spiralling in a 'running dog' pattern to his shoulders. The same pattern adorned his black leggings which were tucked into the tops of his soft shin-high boots.

Harry made a face. Do you own anything that isn't black?" he asked." And isn't it supposed to be impolite to wear that stuff in front of people?"

"I think I've got a Slytherin scarf somewhere," Malfoy said coolly. "And that sort of modesty is only for females or elders – not that you would know the difference," he added, looking Harry's torn jeans and T-shirt up and down with distaste.

"Eheh, very funny," said Harry. "You're just full of wise talk, aren't you?"

"Well it looks to me like I'm the only one in a position to be saying anything," sneered the other boy, tucking a lock of slightly unkempt blond hair behind his ear.

"Hard when you can't spend hours in the bathroom, isn't it, Malfoy?"

Malfoy glared daggers at Harry. "Hard when you can't move an inch, isn't it Potter?"

Harry, wisely perhaps, decided not to continue in this vein until they were both hoarse. "What's so funny about supporting the Ministry, then?" he growled.

Malfoy smirked. "Despite what you may think Potter, the 'Light' and the 'Ministry' are not the same thing. Not even related, to a point."

"What are you _talking _about?" Harry demanded.

"Only," said Malfoy calmly, "that your precious 'Ministry' is full of corrupt bastards who'd switch their loyalties to the Dark Lord at the tip of a hat."

"Or the wave of a wand," Harry shot back. "How many officials do you have under the Imperius curse, eh, Malfoy?"

"Believe what you like, Potter. But there's a reason the Imperius Curse is so rarely used."

"It's illegal?"

Malfoy's smirk widened into what could almost be called a grin. "There are _other _forms of corruption, Potter. Involving absolutely no magic at all. How do you think the Muggles do it?"

_With money, _Harry thought, but didn't say anything. He wouldn't give Malfoy the satisfaction of thinking Harry was coming around to his way of thinking. Instead he shook his head in disgust and rolled his eyes. "You never change, do you?"

"I hope not," said the young Death Eater, before stepping over Harry's legs and walking away.

--

"What's going on back there?" Travis demanded as soon as Draco stepped around the line of tents. "Were you talking to them? Did you tell them anything?"

'If you're questioning my loyalty, you can answer to my wand," Draco told him angrily.

Travis' face reddened. "Watch your tongue lad, lest you want it cursed off. "

Draco looked past Travis to where Pettigrew was standing guard outside the van. "Excuse me," he said to Travis, as politely as he could possibly manage, shouldering past the taller man.

"I want to speak to my father," he demanded of Wormtail.

Pettigrew raised his head with a slow deliberateness that sent a shiver down Draco's spine.

"Mr. Malfoy is busy," he informed Draco unnecessarily. "Come back later." If Draco had known what an answering machine was, he would have happily compared Wormtail to one – a rude one, at that.

'I –" Draco hesitated. Wormtail was powerful – very powerful. People who annoyed him either met a fateful end, or walked away with damaged limbs or vocal chords. Wormtail was getting back at every person who'd every intimidated him when he weak and helpless – expect the Dark Lord. No one threatened He–Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. "Please tell him I wish to speak with him," Draco muttered, and backed off.

Oliver Farwell was reading a book, sitting on his bedroll. He allowed no part of himself to touch the forest floor, and when Draco, careless, sat down amid the dry leaves beside him, the older man moved away from him too, as if he were as unclean as the dirt beneath them.

"Cold feet?" Farwell jibed. Draco glared at him. None of these imbeciles would have dared to insult him when his father had been in his right mind! Bitter with fury and confusion, Draco stormed back to his tent.

--

"Who spat in his Sunday Roast?" Harry asked, amused, as the flap of the tent was closed firmly behind Malfoy.

"How do you _do_ that?" Neville asked.

"Do what?"

"Just… talk to him like that? Like you're only play fighting."

"Five years of practice, Nev, that's how."

"I wish I could do that," Neville said with a sigh.

"You didn't do too badly yourself, back there on the boat."

"Are you kidding? I've never been so terrified in my life!"

"And you think I'm not?"

There was a pause. "Well… you never _seem_ scared. I mean, you've done all that stuff without even, you know, making a big deal out of it. The only time I've ever seen you even remotely afraid was… you know."

Harry did know. He'd had enough fear during that one day earlier in the year to share with the entire population of Hogwarts. "Yeah well, Neville. Despite what you may think, I have not gone through the last five years without any semblance of fear whatsoever." He didn't mention the years before that, at the Dursleys. From what he'd seen of Neville's home life, he was pretty sure they matched up in terms of awfulness there.

--

When the sun set, the group piled onto the truck again, Harry and Neville roughly shoved to the back. Again they drove for hours with only one break for the men to relieve themselves and grab some food for the journey. The two boys were, luckily, taken into the petrol station by Pettigrew and Travis and allowed free reign of the men's toilet with the two Death Eaters standing outside the door until they came out. There were no windows in the place big enough for either boy to climb out of, and Harry really didn't want either man coming in to 'assist' them, as threatened. When they came out and were each grabbed by the shoulder, Harry briefly considered yelling at the till clerk for help, but reasoned that not only could Travis and Pettigrew kill everyone in the shop, Pettigrew could also crush his collarbone with his silver hand as soon as Harry opened his mouth. "Good boys," said Travis as he tied them up again, making Harry want to spit in his face.

Toeing the line was starting to become a real chore by the time they stopped again for the day. This time they appeared to be in some kind of abandoned camping site – Harry spotted a sign that he could see the letters, but not understand what they meant. "Any idea where we are, yet?" he asked Neville once they'd been once more left alone, positioned facing each other in a nook between two trees.

"No clue," said Neville. "I may have been a couple of places but I'm hardly better travelled than you are."

They were cut off from any further conversation by the sight of Lucius Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange emerging from the driver's door. The two boys had seen them go in, but no word had been spoken and the only mention of her had been when Nott had muttered irritably about how 'that woman' had taken his place up front. Draco Malfoy had not lost his place, but stumbled out now from the passenger seat looking thoroughly disgusted. He said nothing to his father but grabbed his tent from Farwell and threw it into a corner, where it righted itself. Harry had noticed this the day before. While the tents were magical in that they assembled themselves, they didn't seem to have extensive insides like the ones he'd seen at the World Cup two years ago. Thinking about this, he sighed. I wonder what Ron and Hermione are doing now, he thought. Trying to find me, I bloody well hope.

---

Ron and Hermione looked up, Ron from a magazine he wasn't really reading, and Hermione from a new book she'd purchased herself with her 'good grades' money her parents had bestowed on her during the week she'd spent with them at the beginning of the holidays. It was Fred. "News," he said. "You'd better come down."

Ron almost flew off the bed. "Is it about Harry?" he asked hurriedly.

"Who else?" said Fred. "C'mon."

Remus Lupin was nursing a freshly made cup of tea when they got down to the kitchen. "What's happened?" Ron asked immediately. "Did they find Harry?"

"Not exactly," said Remus, sounding as though he hadn't slept in days. "Sit down, all of you." The other Weasleys were already seated at the table, barring Ginny who was spending a couple of weeks with a friend. "Professor Dumbledore went to the Ministry of Magic today to ask if there had been any disturbances concerning Harry. Harry's wand, that is. The ministry keeps track of the wands and homes of underage wizards and witches so that they can tell when they use magic outside of the school term. Now usually," Remus stopped to sip his tea and Ron suddenly felt the need to snatch the cup away from him. "Usually the Ministry sends a letter to someone using underage magic, as you well know. But Dumbeldore and Fudge came to an agreement that this summer, letters of warning or expulsion would not be sent to Harry due to his, well, extraordinary circumstances."

"So was there anything?" Hermione asked. "Did Harry use magic?"

"I'm getting there, Hermione. When Professor Dumbledore was granted permission to look at the journals that record all spells done in the home or by the wand of underage wizards, he discovered that no spells had been done inside of Number four, _but, _Harry's wand _was _used at about the time we estimate him to have, well…"

"Run off?" Ron suggested nastily. Everyone ignored him.

"What spell was it, Remus?" Molly asked, her hands trembling.

Remus sighed. "The _ossifrango_curse."

Everyone in the room gasped. "The bone-breaking curse?" Hermione cried. "But –"

"Tonks had a broken arm," said George, in disbelief.

"No," said Ron, still steadfastly refusing to believe that such at thing was possible of his friend. "No way."

"We've heard from St. Mungo's as well," said Remus, looking grimmer than ever. "Poor Tonks doesn't remember anything about what happened. The examiners have concluded that who or whatever it was that injured her came up from behind. Even with a Pensieve, if she didn't see her attacker, there's no way we can determine whether or not it was Harry."

---

"Someone has to find us eventually," Harry assured Neville finally. "They'll have known I've been missing for days. What about your gran – will she have told anyone you're gone, or –"

"She's in hospital," said Neville, suddenly feeling very guilty. He hadn't thought about his gran since before the Death Eaters had kidnapped him. "I was living with my great uncle Algie... he could be dead for all I know." The thought made him feel a little sick.

"What happened, anyway?" Harry asked him, looking furious at himself for not asking the question before. Neville shrugged.

"I don't totally remember that well," he said. "I smelt something weird downstairs and when I got down there it was all blue and smoky. I think I passed out."

"The hall…" Harry muttered, almost to himself. "It was red. Not coloured red or anything… the air looked reddish. And I saw smoke down near the floor." Neville said nothing. Harry was obviously trying to work something out. _He's built for this sort of thing_, Neville realised. _He was born to be kidnapped and do heroic deeds. What the hell am I doing here? Harry's the smart one. _

"I don't _get _it!" Harry suddenly exclaimed, a little of last summer's rage showing in his face. "Why didn't they just storm the house, what's with this smoke and luring me out of the house, it's almost like they wanted it to look…" suddenly he froze. Neville waited. "Like an accident," he finished. "Neville – what if no one even realises what happened? There'll be no signs of a struggle at the house. If no one checks up on you…"

Neville gulped. If his uncle was dead, no one would even know he was gone until his gran yelled at someone loud enough to go find out what was keeping her grandson from visiting her. "Doesn't look good, does it?" he whispered.

"What are you muttering about now?" asked the dreaded voice of Draco Malfoy, as he came over to lean against a nearby tree.

"What's it to you?" Harry spat.

"Now now, Potter, no need to get excited, I was just asking," said Malfoy. "Conjuring up an escape plan already are we? Well, good luck with that."

"You know what, Malfoy? I'm sick of this banter. What do you and your deranged father want from us anyway?"

Harry honestly expected Malfoy to hit him. Or pull his wand on him. In normal circumstances any slight of Malfoy or his father would cause the young hothead to fly at the offender, but this time, the other boy merely frowned. "Got me," he said, and stalked off.

Harry looked at Neville. Neville looked at Harry. "That's it," said Neville. "It's not just Lestrange. They've all lost it."

--

It was about six in the evening when Bellatrix Lestrange, who'd been sitting quietly with her eyes closed for the last ten hours, looked up to the sky and announced. "It's coming."

Lucius ran to her. "How?" he demanded. "How will the message be sent to us?"

Lestrange put a finger to Malfoy's lips. "Hush," she said. "The master will show us in his own time."

"Oh, this ought to be good," Harry muttered. "A message from Voldemort. What could _possibly _be worse than Bellatrix showing up?"

"Don't jinx it," Neville whispered. "I can think of plenty."

"Right now I can only come up with a cou-" Harry grunted as something hit him in the head from behind.

"What? What is it?"

Harry strained to look behind him. There was only the tree. "That's weird," he said. "I felt – " Suddenly his scar erupted in more pain than he'd felt since Voldemort himself had touched it. His scream caused all the Death Eaters to stand up and draw their wands. Neville watched helplessly as Harry kicked at the ground, squirming against the ropes as though it was they that were paining him. His head shot back, colliding with the tree he was tied to… and he lay still.

"Harry?" Neville said softly, reaching out a foot to nudge Harry's knee. His face snapped back to face him, and Neville screamed.

This was not Harry. His eyes were a bright red and had scarcely any pupils, his mouth twisted into a terrible, malicious sneer. After staring at Neville for a derisory couple of seconds, the thing turned its eyes to Lucius Malfoy who was standing nearby, slack jawed and staring. "Untie me, you fool!" the thing said, in a high, cold voice.

--

Despite the huge amount of things that happened in that chapter, it was still pretty short, wasn't it? I'm almost ready to give up. A little supportive review would be great :D

Love,

Laterose


	7. In Which the Situation Becomes A Lot Mor...

_**Happy New Year, everyone! Also, for those that are keeping track, I'm sixteen now. So people can stop emailing me to say 'OMG-you're-thirteen?' I'm really glad you enjoyed the last chapter. **_

_**Also I have to warn you that I've started year 11 – and that means International Baccalaureate standard homework. I know I'm pretty irregular with updates at the moment, but here's your official warning that it could get slightly worse. I'm not worried though – I'll be so desperate for something else to do other than homework that the weekends will probably be fanfic holidays! **_

_**Please note, because all my betas are just as busy as I am and I wouldn't dream of interrupting them, this chapter is UNBETAD. I've uploaded it with some mistakes that people have pointed out fully corrected. Any further help is appreciated. Please be nice in your bashing. :D**_

_**Warning: mild swearing in this chapter. **_

**Previously: **

"_Harry?" Neville said softly, reaching out a foot to nudge Harry's knee. His face snapped back to face him, and Neville screamed. _

_This was not Harry. His eyes were a bright red and had scarcely any pupils, his mouth twisted into a terrible, malicious sneer. After staring at Neville for a derisory couple of seconds, the thing turned its eyes to Lucius Malfoy who was standing nearby, slack jawed and staring. "Untie me, you fool!" the thing said, in a high, cold voice. _

**Evanesco**

**Chapter Six**

**In Which the Situation Becomes a Lot More Serious**

Draco had stepped into the fork of a tree in order to see what was going on. He shivered when the red eyes swivelled to survey the entire group as his father hurried to undo the knots around Potter's – or rather, Voldemort's wrists. Longbottom looked like he was going to wet himself with terror. Although he wouldn't admit it, Draco thought he might be close to that state of mind himself, but couldn't bear to tear his eyes away. This was Voldemort. The Dark Lord. He was real. He was… there. When Potter had gone into what looked like a spasmodic attack, he'd been prepared to be standing there smirking when he came to, but had been beaten to the scene by the entire company, all of whom had been on edge since they'd set up camp.

Draco envied them. He'd been on edge since he'd had to get into that bloody truck again, but this time with _her_. Nott didn't talk much, but that was fine by him. Bellatrix Lestrange spoke constantly, hardly ever making much sense but always with cold laughter in her words that made Draco's hair stand up on end. It made him sick to see his father fawn over her as though they were young lovers at Christmas. Neither seemed to remember that they were married. Draco knew it wasn't any of his business, but the thought of his mother at home, waiting impatiently for them to return and not knowing of her husband's blatant affections for her sister made him sick to the stomach.

There was something else. Draco didn't know what it was, but he had a feeling someone was going to let it slip soon. Whenever the two of them were in sight, the other Death Eaters would glance over at Draco in an infuriatingly superior way that suggested to him that they knew something he didn't.

"Master…" his father was stammering now as The Dark Lord stood, looking down at himself and turning his nose up at Potter's torn jeans in disgust. "Master… how is this possible?"

"A simple process, Lucius," that horrible voice informed Draco's father. "Potter's mind is weak, and easy to break into. The distance between our bodies causes a little added difficulty, but nothing that cannot be overcome in time. The closer you bring him to me, the easier the journey becomes."

"And is Potter –"

"Fully conscious, I assure you," sneered Voldemort. "And clamouring to be set free as though I might comply out of pity. The idiot boy thinks he has power over me."

It was at this point that Bellatrix Lestrange chose to make herself known. She glided forward through the ranks of men to stand beside Lucius Malfoy.

"Ah," said Voldemort, in a softer tone that was no less terrifying than his usual voice. "Bellatrix, my sweet."

Because of Harry's height, Bellatrix had to lower herself to her knees to kiss the grubby hand he offered her. Voldemort looked at the hand afterwards. "This body is repulsive," he said. "But it is necessary in order to convey my orders to you. Lucius, you are travelling off course. Do what is necessary to correct yourself, even if it means walking."

Draco's mouth dropped open. Many of the assembled Death Eaters started mumbling.

"But Master –" Malfoy protested. "The Muggles…"

"No arguments, Malfoy!" Voldemort hissed through Potter's lips.

-

Harry was angrier than he'd ever been in his life – with Voldemort, mostly, but also with himself. He'd felt the bastard enter his mind and hadn't been able to do anything about it! He could hear Snape's voice laughing in triumph somewhere in his subconcious. He was still in his body, but unable to control anything. Voldemort had completely taken over, and Harry's consciousness had been shoved to somewhere in the back where he could watch, but not interfere.

"LET. ME. OUT!" he thought as hard as he could. And the thought of Voldemort came back to him. "Really, Potter? Well, as it is your wish I shall have to comply. Or I could simply continue using your body as a resting place for my mind. I believe I prefer that option."

"Well I DON'T! Go away!" He shuddered inwardly as Bellatrix kissed his hand. "Oh, that's disgusting." Desperately Harry tried to remember something – _anything_ – that Snape had taught him. He tried in vain to clear his mind and was met with pure resistance.

"Desist, Potter, before I do something to hurt your friend."

Voldemort looked at Neville through Harry's eyes, and Harry saw. Neville looked as though he'd been reduced to the boy Harry had met in first year, a nervous disaster just waiting to happen, looking at Harry in disbelief.

"If you even THINK about hurting him…"

-

"Potter, shut up before I lose my temper!" the Dark Lord suddenly yelled, apparently to no one in particular. Draco almost fell out of the tree. For a moment, there was silence.

"Lucius," Voldemort hissed. "Get them to me. Bellatrix will show you the way. Do what she tells you. My dear," he continued, turning to Lestrange almost fondly. "Do not disappoint me again. They're _both _mine." He looked at Longbottom, who shrunk away, terrified. "Nagini is getting impatient."

Potter collapsed.

-

Harry felt the terrible presence in his mind jerk away, none too gently. He fell to his knees, the pain in his scar fading but still immobilising. Without Voldemort to hold him up, he could not stand. He could move his fingers.

Before he had a chance to even think of making a break for it, two of Malfoy's man ran forward and pushed him back up against the tree, securing his hands once more.

Harry felt like he could be sick, except there wasn't anything left in his stomach to come up. His heart was pounding so hard he thought it would burst out of his chest. People were talking and someone was calling his name but it all seemed to come from very far away. His sinuses felt muffled as if he was underwater. He tried to fight the suffocating air that surrounded him, but in vain, the stress on his body had left his limbs feeling as useless as cooked noodles. He sank, slowly, painfully, into sleep.

-

Several hours later, Neville had passed the stage that some could call nervous and had progressed to what he liked to refer to as bladder-twisting mind-numbing terror. With Harry out of it, there was nothing to distract him from the reality of the situation, which was that they were miles from home in the company of madmen and killers, there was no way out and when this horrible ordeal of a journey ended, Harry was going to have to face Voldemort again and he, Neville, was going to be fed to a giant snake. The future looked dim.

It was cold. They couldn't have been more than a mile from people in any direction and the ground was thick with leaves and other debris, but despite the danger someone had magically lit a fire. It glowed blue, no smoke came off it and it didn't seem to be burning anything, particularly. The Death Eaters were huddled around it, but Neville was in sight of at least one of them all the time. If escape was at all possible, he would not get far.

Neville knew how to light normal fires by magic. He knew that Hermione, who would have been extremely useful on this little escapade, had been conjuring those magic fires since her first year. But no one had taught them how to do it in class. For the hundredth time he resolved to do some extra reading over the holidays to get him up to speed with everyone else.

_But you're not on holiday anymore, _said a nasty little voice in his brain. _You're stuck in the middle of no where with the woman who tortured your parents until they lost their minds, and there's no way you can get out. You're going to die. What'll five years of struggling in class and blowing up cauldrons be worth then? _Neville tried not to listen. The voice was the part of him that always tried to convince him he was worthless, talk him out of trying because there was no reason to continue. It's a Deceiver, but what it says makes a horrid sense. Everyone has a part of them like this, but in Neville, the Deceiver was that close to dominating him.

Out of the corner of his eye he could see Draco Malfoy watching him, probably thinking the same thoughts he was, only Malfoy was thinking them with glee. _Bastard,_ he thought, thinking the word viciously. Malfoy at least was something that kept him on the ground, away from the Deceiver – Malfoy was regular. He was always there, ruining people's lives one evil step at a time. But he hadn't killed anyone, Neville decided. He isn't the same as the others. Killing changes a person. You could see it in all the men around the fire. A sick power burned within them, the temptation to use it threatening to take over. Neville shuddered.

_What would I be doing if I wasn't here? _he thought, averting Malfoy's eyes and looking up to the sky, visible through the thin tree branches. It was powder blue. Would he be reading? Writing letters to his friends? No, he never did that. That was something done between best friends, and though he was on good terms with all the Gryffindor boys, and even a couple of the Hufflepuffs who hung around the greenhouses on summer afternoons, he wasn't close to anyone, not really. Insane as it sounded, the plants understood him better than anyone he knew, even his gran. Especially his gran. If he told anyone this they would say that plants were just – well – plants. They didn't think. Neville knew they were wrong. Some of the most magically advanced even understood speech – the venomous tentacular, for one. And those that couldn't… sensed things. Perhaps that's where he would be, by the windowsill, running the feelers of the plants he kept there between his fingers, gingerly stroking the surface of the _Mimbulus Mimbletonia. _Or at the hospital, with his gran… his gran. Neville moaned softly. He'd barely thought about her for three days. What on earth was she going to do?

-

The Aurors were suiting up for the day. Kingsley Shacklebolt had received the order and stood now, looking grimly at the piece of parchment, waiting for his three colleagues to catch up. _Waste of time_, he thought. _I should be in that meeting._ With Potter missing and Tonks in hospital, the sense of urgency had risen dramatically at Grimmauld Place. Kingsley did not have time for trivial matters.

"What's the job, sir?" enquired young Robert Burney, who had just scraped through his final exam and had been on the force for little more than a month. He got excited about the slightest thing. This ought to send him off the edge.

"Nothing much," Kingsley rumbled. "Some old woman in St. Mungo's hasn't heard from her grandson in days and thinks he might have been kidnapped."

Olivia Thompson, five years Kingsley's junior and sharper than a knife, looked up from lacing her boots. "What?" she snapped. "That's it?"

Kingsley suppressed a smile. He'd been thinking lately about convincing Olivia to join the Order. She knew what she was about, and with Tonks gone…

"Ah, not quite," he said. "She's sent various people to check on the boy, who is supposedly in the care of an uncle, or great uncle, and there was no one at the house. The door wasn't locked but apparently there's no sign of a struggle."

"So what are we going for, then?" enquired the fourth member of their party, Alexander Higglewick, who insisted on being called Lex, which Kingsley thought was something of a dog's name. Lex was strong as an ox, and quick with a wand, but tended to complain a lot, something which people like Olivia Thompson looked down on. It was a poorly organised group.

"To see if there _was _a struggle and determine whether the boy was actually kidnapped." Kingsley said firmly, leading the way to the Aurors apparition port.

"I still don't see why we have to go," complained Lex, grabbing his wand and shoving it his holder roughly. If he'd have pouted he would have been the picture of a spoiled five year old. "Isn't it a job for the MLE?"

"The Magical Law Enforcement has enough on its plate as it is," snapped Kingsley, though he privately agreed. "Attacks on Muggleborn homes have increased by almost fifty percent since July, as you well know."

Arthur Weasley was standing outside the apparition port, apparently waiting for him. "Excuse me," said Kingsley to his comrades. "Arthur," he greeted his friend.

"Kingsley, I just wanted to make sure you weren't coming to… ah…" Mr. Weasley glanced at the three Aurors waiting behind the big man. "To dinner," he finished, meeting Kingsley's eyes in a significant way.

"Sorry," said Kingsley, and meaning it. He nodded towards his comrades. "Duty calls, you know how it is."

"Of course," said Arthur, and Kingsley missed Lex's question.

"What'd you say, lad?"

"The boy's _name_, sir," Lex repeated. "The one that's been 'kidnapped'."

"What? Oh – Neville something…"

Arthur's eyes flashed. He grabbed Kingsley's arm. "Neville _Longbottom_? Alice and Frank's boy?"

Kingsley glanced back down at the parchment in his hand, suddenly wishing he'd read it properly. "Must be," he said, eyes meeting Arthur's. Mr. Weasley did not release his arm.

"I'm coming with you."

-

"Harry?"

There was no answer. Neville found himself envying his friend. Six hours unconscious had to be better than six hours awake in this place.

"He'll wake," said a voice by his ear. He jumped, then frantically tried to strain away. Bellatrix Lestrange was crouching beside him, an expression of mock innocence on her face. "Poor baby," she giggled as Neville shrank away, against Harry's prone body. "Far from home with no where to go."

God, her eyes were mad. Try as he might, Neville simply couldn't look away from them, they were captivating, hypnotizing.

She stroked his hair, he shuddered at the touch. "I'll take care of you," she said softly. She didn't seem to be talking to him as much as thinking out loud. 'I won't let anything happen to you."

Anger coursed through Neville like fire. "R-right," he stammered. "Like you didn't let anything happen to my parents?"

"They're happy now," Lestrange murmured, still stroking his hair.

"No they're not!" Neville almost shouted. Suddenly the stroking became a forceful tug – the woman had a handful of his hair and was using it to force his head back. Neville's eyes watered.

"We'll be happy, you and me," Lestrange sang. "I'll be your new mummy." Neville shivered, and the madwoman jerked her hand back. It came away with strands of brown hair between her fingers. She sniffed them, smiling. "Pretty," she said and wandered off. Neville took a deep, shuddering breath.

"Disgusting, isn't it?" said yet another voice from behind him, and Neville wondered how many of these shocks would lead him to a heart attack. It was Malfoy, strolling casually to stand beside him.

Neville glared up at him. "I was leaning more towards painful and creepy," he said.

"I mean _that_," snapped Malfoy, nodding towards the fire. Neville looked and saw Malfoy's father fussing over Bellatrix who seemed pleased at the attention.

"What?" Your dad and his new girlfriend, Malfoy? Fat lot I care."

Malfoy looking at him in surprise. "An answer almost worthy of Potter, Longbottom," he remarked. "How much d'you pay for the sliver of backbone?"

Neville opened his mouth, then shut it again. "Shut up, Malfoy," he said eventually.

Malfoy sneered, but not in his usual exultant way. He seemed diminished, somehow, like a squishy fruit left out too long in the sun. He even smelled, like dead vegetation and dirt. So did they all, though, Neville realised. "I'm sick of this," Malfoy muttered.

"_You're _sick of it?"

Malfoy did not answer. He crossed his arms and stood in silence, watching his father on the other side of the blue flames.

Suddenly Neville felt Harry stir. "Harry?" He reached out his foot and touched his friend gently on the leg. The response was startling. Harry's head snapped around and he snarled, eyes green but blazing.

"Leave me alone!"

Neville's eyes widened in fear as he tried to scramble backwards. "Harry, what's _wrong _with you?"

For a moment no one moved. Then the blaze in Harry's eyes faded. "Oh god… Neville… I'm sorry…" he raised a shaking hand to his forehead and closed his eyes. "What happened?"

"Don't you remember?" asked Neville, reluctantly inching back towards him.

"Sort of. God, that hurts."

"Not surprised," said Malfoy, casually, not moving his gaze from the fire.

"Fuck off, Malfoy."

"Touchy. Want me to send you back to sleep again? I'm a dab-hand with a stunning spell."

"Just shut up. What are you doing over here, anyway?"

"Best vantage point to watch the two lovers," Neville told him.

Malfoy kicked Neville hard in the shin. Neville winced. "Shut the hell up, Longbottom. You don't know a thing." Malfoy stormed back to his tent.

"More than you, probably," Neville muttered. "Are you ok?" he asked Harry.

"I feel like I've been pulled through a grinder," groaned the other boy. "That bastard."

"What… what was it like?" asked Neville tentatively.

Harry stared at him. "I don't know," he said finally. "It was… like I was watching myself doing and saying all that stuff… but still with my own eyes."

Seeing Neville's confusion, Harry shrugged. "I don't understand it either. Oh, and he was talking to me, too."

"He said you were yelling to get out."

Harry shuddered. "It was like being trapped in my own head. And let's not forget the agonizing pain."

Neville frowned. "Trapped inside your own head?"

"Don't ask me to explain it."

"No – I get it – I mean… that's what the Healer's at St. Mungos… about my parents… that's just what they said."

Harry suddenly found himself imagining being helpless within his own consciousness for years, even permanently, and thought maybe there might be a little something left in his stomach to be sick with.

"Wow… Neville…"

Neville shrugged. "Nah, I'm used to it. It's just weird you described it that way, that's all."

"Mmm."

There was a pause. "Does it still hurt?" Neville asked eventually.

"Yes. Getting better, though."

"Do you think it'll happen often?"

"Now he knows how to do it, I'd say it'll happen whenever the bastard feels like it, Nev."

"Great." Another silence. "So how come… I mean, why couldn't he do it before?"

Harry thought about this. "We're nowhere near each other, right?" he said. "I mean, he said that we were going off course, we might not even be in the same country, let alone the same area.."

"Ok."

"I've never heard of Occlumency been done over a distance. I suppose the vision-dreams I get are sort of like Occlumency, except I'm pretty certain Voldemort isn't sending them on purpose, that's got something to do with the connection he made when he tried to kill me…"

Neville now looked totally confused. Harry sighed, then looked at the midday sun, high in what they could see of the sky. They had time to fill in the gaps and then some.

Harry told Neville the entire story – things only Dumbledore, Ron and Hermione really knew. He had a feeling that if they ever DID get out of this – they were going to be looking out for each other a lot more, and Neville_ had_ told him that slight bit of information about his parents – unusual for Neville since he normally didn't want to say anything about them. He left out the part about the prophecy, though. He wasn't ready to tell anyone that yet, and besides, how stupid would he have to be to bring that up in the middle of a Death Eater camp and Voldemort able to hijack his mind any time he wanted?

He could tell, though, by the way that Neville nodded slowly and asked innocent questions, that his friend could tell there was something missing from the story.

Too bad.

-

From inside his tent, Draco Malfoy listened, and learned.

-

_**Well, that's the longest chapter so far, people! Express your enormous gratitude in a review!**_


	8. In Which There Is A Plan

**How quick was I this time? Really. It's incredible. Anyway, in thanks to everyone who enjoyed the last two chapters – Review responses!**

Vicious Lily, reading-rider, Somnio, Ephie, rosiegirl, Meaghann, Forsaken163, sak, shelly101, chaser1, elz, Paddycakepadfoot, Sarphiel the Reclusive, Cynthia1850, Calenelen, Jaspercat, Alyndra, Brooklyn's Miracle, Feedbackgirl, carriebun, Fate, Prometheus Unbound, alec joseph, King Dimension, Siri Kat

Thom Verdace: Good guess ;)

Kara: Thanks for the long review ;) You made me giggle. You're right, there should be a fit, but we'll see if their ideas change as time passes.

Sky: I'm really pleased you think the story is unique – I know that the basic plot points have been done before, I've just put them in a different order. I like that you like!

Alaranth-88-hugs to to pieces- thank you so much for betaing this, Cogs!

Silence's Siren: Wow! Very long review, you're my new best friend :D I'm especially glad you like my characterisation of Harry… I sometimes think it's a little off. I think you can see where I'm going with Draco, too. You're obviously a very selective reader who knows what they're talking about, so thanks a lot for your review.

totallystellar-gratefully accepts inspiration dust- thankyou! Was much needed!

Gridline: thanks a lot for your great feedback – it's nice to know what I'm doing right! And never fear – there will be a lot more 'w.t.f' in future!

Jayde Green-fans self- I'm so flattered!

Fabiana: Yes, sorry about that... hopefully you won't have to read the whole thing again this time since the update was much quicker.

citcat299: Well hi, from across the miles! –Misses you- be safe in the knowledge that this chapter has been betad by Rosie, but once you're back on your online feet maybe I could employ you again:P

**Okay, now it's story time.**

**Previously: **

_Harry told Neville the entire story – things only Dumbledore, Ron and Hermione really knew. He left out the part about the prophecy, though. He wasn't ready to tell anyone that yet, and besides, how stupid would he have to be to bring that up in the middle of a Death Eater camp and Voldemort able to hijack his mind any time he wanted?_

_He could tell, though, by the way that Neville nodded slowly and asked innocent questions, that his friend could tell there was something missing from the story. _

_Too bad._

_-_

_From inside his tent, Draco Malfoy listened, and learned. _

**Evanesco**

**Chapter Seven – In Which There is a Plan**

Three days later, Voldemort had not made a second appearance. How people felt about this varied, Harry and Neville on one had felt that this fact alone was enough to offset the depressingly hopeless situation they still found themselves in, while most of the Death Eaters kept eyeing Harry nervously, or poking him with sticks to see if he did anything.

This last was actually Draco Malfoy, who probably hadn't really been testing for possessing entities, but was merely trying to be annoying. He was succeeding admirably, and Harry was starting to feel disturbingly like an exhibition in a zoo.

The journey had continued at night, taking them further and further away from anyone who could be the least bit of help to them, and where they were, they still had no idea. At some point during the journey they had abandoned the magically altered van and began walking – often through brush and trees but occasionally through towns, even cities. There was obviously a lot more forest in this country than there was in England, but it wasn't completely uninhabited. It was obviously a lot slower, but at least it was light. When they had to walk through Muggle civilisation, the two boys were concealed within the group of dark-robed Death Eaters – making the group look like a closely bunched together lot of gloomy tourists who preferred the nightlife. During the day, they camped among the trees – sometimes passed by _real _tourists who stared but moved on quickly. The bonds on Harry and Neville were more discrete for this reason… and Harry began to think of ways to escape.

They were not very good plans. His mind kept shooting back to that one night when his head had been ripped apart and Voldemort had taken up temporary residence. He had told Neville that he'd never heard of Legilimency being done over such a distance, but then when he thought about it afterwards he remembered the dream. The dream about Sirius that had ultimately killed him. Voldemort must have done that from _some_ distance – he couldn't have been right there in the dormitory. He'd been getting better and better at it over time, and Harry? Harry had messed around in Snape's Pensieve, not practiced and had steadily got worse at Occlumency.

Life had literally come round and smacked him in the head.

Sirius. He couldn't stop thinking about him now, just after he'd come to terms with the loss of his only hope for a family. If Sirius was still alive, if he had won, would things be so different? Would he be at Grimmauld place, or would he still be waiting here pathetically for someone to rescue him?

Bellatrix probably wouldn't be here, anyway.

The third day they stopped to rest, Harry's scar started to itch rather incessantly. This was nothing new – it had been going on all year. The fact that his hands were tied behind his back made a significant difference, however.

-

Draco Malfoy was annoyed on a different scale. He'd been constantly annoyed for such a prolonged period of time that he had transcended mere annoyance, and he was now what you could call severely pissed off. The situation did not suit him. No one was paying any attention to him, and his father was far too involved in his own affairs to even notice.

And the threat, the threat that his father had whispered to him as they drove on that first night on the road, still haunted him.

They'd been travelling for a week. Draco was sick of it; though he did at least count himself lucky he wasn't Longbottom or Potter – especially Potter. He'd even found himself feeling _sorry _for the four-eyed golden boy after the Dark Lord's attack on his mind.

_You're a Slytherin, Malfoy, _a voice that sounded horribly like his father echoed inside his head. _You don't feel sorry for ANYONE_. I feel sorry for myself, he thought miserably. _Damn Potter and his stupid scar. If the two of them ran off we could probably all go home. _Draco shook his head. He wasn't _that_ desperate. Yet.

-

It was noon. Harry stared at the sign on the other side of the clearing, written in what could have been Egyptian for all Harry knew. It read 'Člen Určitý Vysoký Vrch'. It was probably just the name of the hill they were on, which at the moment would be just as helpful as… well, something extremely unhelpful.

"Knut for 'em," said a voice next to him. Neville had not, as Harry had suspected, been dozing.

"For what?" Harry asked, plucking at a blade of grass in a muddy lump behind him.

"Your thoughts, of course," said Neville. "Well, I don't actually _have _a Knut, but y'know what I…."

"Oh. Not much."

"Harry you have to do better than that. We have to talk about _something_. I'm bored out of my skull."

"Well, what were _you_ thinking about?"

Neville threw him a look that said this wasn't fair, but he didn't seem to want to argue. Maybe he thought his might set Harry off.

"Home," he said, finally. "Well, not my actual home, of course – it's not that great there at the minute – my gran's in hospital..."

Harry winced. Both parents _and _his gran, now? "Sorry, Neville"

"Oh, she's fine, really. She still has the strength to tell me off, anyway – or at least she did when I left." Neville suddenly looked worried. "I know she's strict and mean and only cares about my marks and upholding the family name – what's left to uphold – but she _is _sort of… the only family I've got. "

Harry wondered what he would do if something happened to the Dursleys. Most of him said he wouldn't care, but there was a small, annoying part that told him the Dursleys was familiar. It was there. Going back there was something he dreaded, but it was regular… it made sense in an unfair sort of way.

Would he be lost?

The blood protection thingy that Dumbledore had gone on and one about would be in the gutter, for a start.

"Anyway," Neville was saying. "I meant Hogwarts. The dormitory, the greenhouses, that sort of thing. The food, for sure."

Harry nodded emphatically. Neither of them had had more than half a meal a day for a week or so now. "Roast turkey and Yorkshire pudding," he reflected.

"Treacle tart."

"Steak and mashed potatoes."

"Blueberry muffins in the morning."

"Shut up!"

"Yes, do." Harry and Neville exchanged looks. It was Malfoy, again.

"What do you want?" Neville complained.

"A decent meal, for one," sneered Malfoy, seating himself against a tree opposite. He seemed to have given up preserving his clothes, which were almost as muddy and torn as their own. "So you can shut up talking about food."

Harry hated this, being tied up and helpless in front of Malfoy. "Chocolate frogs, pumpkin pasties…"

Malfoy glared. "Don't patronize me, Potter. You're hardly in the position."

"That'd sound a lot more menacing if you didn't have a leaf sticking in your hair."

Malfoy's hands flew upwards. His hair did not look good – it lacked the usual oily (and probably magical) substance that slicked it to his skull, and it hung in matted locks around his face. It was, however, free of leaves. Harry and Neville burst out laughing. "Fine," spat Malfoy. "Be that way."

"What way?" Harry sniggered. "Aw, sorry Malfoy, did I offend you?"

"I was _actually_ going to ask you, if …" suddenly Malfoy seemed to sense something and he turned his head slowly towards where Pettigrew and Travis were talking in soft tones. Harry and Neville followed his line of vision. Pettigrew had turned away from the conversation to stare straight at them, his eyes narrowed. Travis was looking too, now, and for some reason, he was even scarier than the man with the silver hand.

"What are they looking at?" Neville wondered.

"Me," said Draco. "Bastards."

Harry's scar tingled. "Hey –" he started to say, ignoring the feeling in his forehead… until it grew. "Um… Neville…"

"What? Harry?"

Malfoy backed off as Harry doubled up. "Oh… not… good…" he groaned through clenched teeth.

"Shit," muttered Malfoy, and ran to bang on the door of the magically enhanced tent, in which his father and Bellatrix were 'talking'. "Father! It's happening again!"

-

"No word?" Molly Weasley asked instantly, as her husband Arthur and Remus Lupin walked through the kitchen door with faces like stone.

"Nothing," said Remus. "About either of the boys."

"This is rubbish," Ron muttered into his eggs.

"Excuse me?" Molly exclaimed

"No, not the food," said Ron, pushing his plate away, no longer hungry. "How can there be no trace? How can we not have _some_ idea where they are?"

"Neville's disappearance worries me," said Remus, rubbing at his eyes with thumb and finger. "If Harry _has _run away – "

"Which he hasn't," Ron said quickly.

"Yes, Ron, I realise it seems unlikely at this point, but if he _has_… what happened to Neville? If the two disappearances are unconnected, that makes it ten times harder to start looking. If they've been… well…"

"Kidnapped," Ron interrupted, unwilling to hear the word 'killed'.

"Kidnapped… then we can probably assume they're in the same place."

"Is the ministry still treating it as two separate cases?" Molly asked.

"Yes," growled Arthur, causing everyone in the room to look at him. Arthur Weasley rarely got angry. "And it's _ridiculous._ They're obviously connected, even if it's not one solid thing."

"You know we're talking… Voldemort, don't you?" Ron said, almost concealing a grimace. His father looked at him in surprise. "Well it _is_," said Ron. "I don't care about any of that other stuff…"

"The fact that Tonks had a broken arm and Harry performed the _ossifrango_ curse at about the same time?" Fred muttered.

"It's a coincidence!" Ron insisted.

"Ron, we can't deny evidence."

"Stop talking about evidence for a minute! Why aren't we out there, _looking _for them?"

Arthur's hand banged down on table, making Ron jump. "I've had enough of this," he said. "Ron, if Harry and Neville were both taken by You-Know-Who, then there is a pretty severe danger that his men will be out there looking for you too. And Hermione. Pettigrew slept in your dormitory for years – he knows who Harry's friends are. You're in almost as much danger right now as Harry is."

Ron knew this. He did. But it didn't matter, not really. "Maybe I am," he said. "But you're not. Lupin isn't. Hell, Dumbledore certainly isn't – why isn't _he _doing something?"

"He _is_, Ron," said Molly, looking tearful. "But don't you understand… there really isn't that much he can do. Dumbledore believes that Harry has run away…. But no tracking or locating charm is working. Harry could be blocking the spells with his own power, or…"

"What?" Hermione said, looking up suddenly from where she'd been poring over a new Astronomy book, pretending she wasn't listening. "How can he?"

The adults looked at each other. The Order knew about Harry Potter. Mostly.

"Harry is…" Arthur started. "Well…"

"Let's just say he's a little abnormal," said Remus. When Ron looked outraged, he added quickly, "in a good way. He has an unusual concentration of magic in his blood."

Hermione stared. "Does he know?"

Remus sighed. "Dumbledore may have told him. If not, he may have tried to explain. In any case… I believe Harry already knows. Unconsciously."

"So," said Ron. "He knows, but he doesn't know he knows?"

"Exactly."

"But what does that mean?" said George, who was leaning against the cupboards with Fred. "He's blocking these charms without meaning to?"

"Oh, he means to," said Remus. "If he doesn't want anyone to find him, a charm such as that just… won't work."

A pause. "That can't be right," said Hermione. "We'd know, wouldn't we? If Harry could just make things happen by thinking them?"

Lupin's lips curled slightly. "It's not… quite as simple as that, Hermione. But Harry's full power has not been activated yet. Some of it… came into use earlier this year."

"The Department of Mysteries?"

"Correct."

"So he's only had this ability for a while," said Hermione.

"If he's even using it," Ron protested.

"Ah," said Lupin. "Of course, Ron. As I was saying – if Harry has _not _run away and does in fact want to be found, then Dumbledore's charms are still useless."

"Because…" Fred prompted.

It was Arthur who answered. "You must understand," he said, "that although You-Know-Who may be afraid of Dumbledore, he is no less powerful. If he has shielding charms on Harry then even Dumbledore would be unable to penetrate them. And of course… the charms do not work if the subject of the spell has…" he coughed. "Passed on."

This was a little too much for Ron to take, but Hermione merely looked thoughtful. Ron would have berated her for being heartless, as he had when the news that Neville had disappeared had arrived and Hermione had merely asked a series of annoying questions to ascertain exactly what had happened, except that afterwards, he had passed by Hermione's room and heard her crying.

"And let's not forget Wormtail," muttered Lupin. "Who knows what power Voldemort imparted to him when he gave him that hand."

"So basically," said Ron. "Unless we can find out where they are, Harry and Neville are pretty much on their own?"

Lupin sighed and met Ron's eyes. Suddenly he looked more tired than Ron had ever seen him, even after Sirius died.. "Unless they can find a way to escape, then yes. They are on their own."

-

Harry's head was about to split open. His feet dug into the grass with the combined effort of trying not to scream and attempting to force the foreign mind from his own. It was all useless of course – he didn't have a tenth of the Occlumency skills he'd need to expel Voldemort at this point.

He screamed. Oliver Farwell looked so excited he could wet himself as he held Harry's shoulders, forcing him in place as he tried to writhe.

When his eyes opened, they were red as blood. "Let go of me!"

Farwell, who looked as if he'd been expecting to be thrown across the clearing, let go. "Untie me."

Farwell complied, shaking. Voldemort stretched out the kinks in Harry's back as he stood up. Harry felt almost grateful, even if he did have no control over any of his limbs.

Lucius and Bellatrix stumbled out of the tent, their clothes ruffled. "Master!" Bellatrix exclaimed, throwing herself at Harry's knees. Voldemort didn't seem too flattered – probably still seething over his servants' failure at the ministry.

"You are doing well," he admitted, grudgingly. "Where is Wormtail?"

Pettigrew approached, his head bowed. "Master."

"You have been faithful to me, quashing mutiny before it can spread. You will be rewarded. When you arrive you will reveal to me the names of any…" as Voldemort spoke he glanced around at the assembled Death Eaters – some of whom did not meet the red eyes. "Unbelievers."

"Yes, master."

Travis looked uncomfortable. Lucky for him, Voldemort ignored him.

Harry hammered against the invisible walls that bound him, aware that he was endangering Neville's life but suddenly desperate, uncaring. He fought desperately for control of his body.

At this point, Voldemort shifted one foot, tripping slightly on the discarded ropes on the ground. In this split second loss of concentration, Harry felt his hand move. It was like the feeling you get when you accidentally take two steps at once when coming downstairs, he'd been pushing so hard against his restraints that when they broke, briefly, the hand flew upwards, startling him. It was _Harry's _lack of concentration this time that allowed Voldemort to regain control.

Harry felt a surge of triumph and disappointment. He'd been _that _close to winning.

_A momentary lapse, Potter_, came Voldemort's thought. _I wouldn't get my hopes up if I were you_.

Harry didn't answer. He knew how to do it now and it was simple – once he got the chance. It wasn't a case of gaining control anymore. It was a case of losing it.

An idea was forming in his mind but he didn't dare to t hink about it too much – Voldemort had protection against Harry reading his every thought – Harry, as far as he knew, had no such thing.

Voldemort lowered the hand Harry had raised – Pettigrew had flinched as though he thought his Master was going to strike him. Then, Voldemort turned.

Draco suppressed a shudder as the red eyes met his own grey ones. After alerting his father, he'd crept back around to Longbottom because this meant he was _behind_ Voldemort – he hadn't banking on the great bat turning to look straight at him!

As though he'd read Draco's mind, Voldemort's eyes narrowed in Harry's face. "This one is disrespectful towards me," he said. "Make sure he is duly punished."

"What? Master - I'm not! I never said anything!"

"Master," Lucius began. Draco realised his father wasn't protesting. "Master, won't you punish him? He needs to learn from the greatest."

Draco gaped at his father. WHAT? A year ago his father would have fought tooth and nail to avoid him being punished by Voldemort. Or… would he have, though? Lucius himself wasn't against the odd punishment…

Voldemort smiled. "Ah, Lucius," he said, as though addressing a sick child. "I fear you do not understand. In this body," he gestured with disgust at Harry's left hand with his right. "I am as powerful as Potter himself, meaning… I am diminished considerably."

A couple of men sniggered. "This means I am incapable of performing even the Cruciatus Curse, since Potter himself has not been able to master it. However," Voldemort continued, grinning horribly. "Remember what I told you before you left, Lucius."

Lucius bowed. "I hope that it will not come to that, My Lord."

Voldemort looked at Draco again. He felt naked under the red gaze and fought against the urge to take a large step backwards.

"So do I."

-

When Harry awoke, the sun had almost set. Remembering how he had lashed out the last time, he lay for a moment, breathing heavily. He felt like he'd been nearly suffocated. He took several deep breaths before attempting to sit up. Yes, he was tied up again. He supposed there hadn't been much hope that someone would forget.

"Um… Harry?"

He turned to see Neville watching him, very cautiously. Harry attempted a smile through the short, deep gasps of air. "Hey."

Neville breathed a sigh of relief. "You ok?"

"Not really."

"It was longer that time, wasn't it?"

"Sure felt like it."

Neville moaned. "I _hate _this," he hissed. "We have to get _out _of here."

"No problem."

"I haven't eaten in days, my wrists are red raw, not to mention Malfoy's really starting to act – what?"

Harry grinned through the pain. "I've got an idea."


	9. In Which Draco Finds Out Why

There's plot in this chapter! Shocking, I know. Apologies for the wait, folks.

Please visit the Yahoo group for this story (you can find the link on my somewhat retarded info page) and join in the discussion: some interesting questions have been raised which I am loath to answer lest it give away the entire plot. (For there is plot!) But please come and join in :D

_Previously:_

_Neville moaned. "I hate this," he hissed. "We have to get out of here."_

_"No problem."_

_"I haven't eaten in days, my wrists are red raw, not to mention Malfoy's really starting to act – what?"_

_Harry grinned through the pain. "I've got an idea."_

**Evanesco**

**Chapter 8 – In Which Draco Finds Out Why**

Neville stared.

"What?" said Harry. It had taken a very short time to whisper his so called 'plan' to Neville while trying to look as though he was simply inspecting a nearby shrub. This was not just because the plan was not entirely thought out yet, but mainly because at several points during the telling, he'd come to parts that were almost certain to get one or both of them killed, and had glossed past them.

"Um, well… look, Harry, that's not going to work."

"Ok, it's a little risky…"

"Harry. It's insane. Crazy, idiotic, stupid, outrageous, foolish, unwise – take your pick. We can't do it."

"Can't do what?" Malfoy appeared from behind them.

"Stop doing that!" Neville complained.

"What for?" said Malfoy. "It's the only thing to do in this place."

"Bugger off, Malfoy," said Harry.

"Oh, I'm sorry," said Malfoy, grinning. "Private conversation, I'm sure."

"Quite."

"I'll let you get back to plotting your hopeless escape in peace," said Malfoy's retreating voice.

Silence.

"See," said Neville eventually, "he thinks it's hopeless, too."

"He can't have heard us," Harry protested. "He'd tell."

"Maybe he's blackmailing us."

"Some cheek that'd be," said Harry, shrugging his arms so that the ropes came into view. "Us all tied up and sentenced to instant death at the end of this damn walk, does he really think he could make it at all worse?"

O0o0O

Draco didn't really know what he was doing. It frustrated him not to know where he stood with anyone, although being free to move around as opposed to being tied up like Potter and Longbottom was a definite plus. Also, he could tell something was stirring among the Death Eaters and he _knew _it was something to do with Voldemort's instructions to Lucius earlier.

_"This one is disrespectful towards me. Make sure he is duly punished."_

Oh yes, it was something to gnaw feverishly at the back of the mind, all right.

"…be healthy," came the unmistakeable voice of that oaf, Oliver Farwell, from behind the canvas of the tent wall. Some people obviously hadn't gotten used to the idea that you could hear through the more Muggle ones, even if they did assemble themselves. "I mean… him and her… eugh."

"Don't think about it lad," growled Travis' rough tone. "You'll only hurt yourself."

"Or get hurt by someone else," another young Death Eater giggled.

"No one can hurt me now," Farwell announced proudly. Draco imagined him beating his chest in triumph, like a gorilla. It was almost funny. "I've touched the Dark Lord!"

Wormtail's reedy laugh interrupted him. "You touched _Potter_. Hardly something to be proud of, Farwell. Besides, you grabbed him by the shoulders. I doubt the Master will remember it with any fondness."

"It doesn't matter," sighed Farwell. "I am blessed."

"You're a big sneeze, is all you are."

I used to be like that, Draco thought. Praying for the Dark Lord's return, hoping for the one day that I'd see him, more like a religious icon than a political alliance.

All Draco had seen was the power and the glory. And what did that all come to, in the end? Sitting alone in a bug-infested tent, in the middle of nowhere, filthy, bored and also – though admitting it would be against all his previous and current principles – terrified.

Under any normal circumstances he would have told himself it would get better. Under the Dark Lord's reign he would rise within the ranks of the Death Eaters to be as powerful as his father had been during Voldemort's first rise. But his father had been to Azkaban now. He was crazy, bonkers, off his loop. He was asking Voldemort to curse _him, _Draco. He was betraying Draco's mother by making out with Bellatrix Lestrange every spare second he got. Quite frankly he was the last person in the world that Draco admired right now.

The mental images were starting to turn his stomach.

Outside, meanwhile, the conversation had turned back to the aforementioned relations between the two leaders.

"It's very odd," said a voice Draco recognised as Hans Leeman, a stick-thin man who'd been in seventh year Slytherin when Draco was in first. "I mean it's like they decided on it beforehand. Like they were continuing a conversation they hadn't finished. How long do you think it's been going on?"

"About sixteen years now, I make it," said Travis.

Draco froze. That… was a joke, right? Whoa, pulling yer leg there mate, har har and so forth.

"What do you mean?" snapped Wormtail, who sixteen years ago hadn't been a Death Eater as much as a Death Nibbler and had never been given much information further than 'where he could stick it', on a good day.

"Oh yeah," said Travis, quite jolly now that everyone was paying attention to him. "Didn't I mention? They were together before. Yonks ago, it was. Back in the good old days when we never had to scramble around in the muck and sleep in Muggle tents." He spat. No one, not even Wormtail, reprimanded him in their eagerness to hear the story.

"We reckoned it started when the _brat_," and Draco could almost _hear _the bastard jab a thumb towards _his_ tent, "was on the way. Well, you know how it is. The wife's not nearly as… appetising… when half her weight consists of kid and weird pregnant-craving-food. A man gets urges." There were snickers.

"Did Mrs. Malfoy know?" someone piped up.

"God yes," said Travis. "The wife always knows in these situations. She wasn't happy about it, but what could she do? Rodolphus didn't know though, not till afterwards. But," he lowered his voice considerably and Draco leaned his ear closer to the tent wall, holding his breath. "When brat boy was born and the whole thing stopped, Rodolphus and Bellatrix got married pretty damn quick."

Draco bit his lip. Hard.

"She _wasn't_, was she?" Farwell squeaked.

"That's what we all thought at the time," said Travis. "We sure didn't see her for a while after that, and Rodolphus, when he was around, was bloody quiet."

"But they don't have a child," mused Pettigrew.

"Nah," said Travis. "Reckon they got rid of it. Killed it, or sent it off somewhere. But I heard…" he spoke now in a dramatic whisper. "_I _heard it was a squib! Imagine! Spawn of a Malfoy and a Black, two oldest wizarding families, and not a drop of magic in its veins!"

Draco put his hands over his ears. No way. Just… no way. This had been going on since before he was _born_? Travis was a butcher, a liar and a fraud, but there was a _grain _of truth to most of the things he said. He groaned and pulled his bedroll over his head. This couldn't possibly get any worse.

O0o0O

Harry and Neville had heard nothing of the conversation by the fire. Harry was fuming about something else, now. When Pettigrew had grabbed a spare robe out of his small bag, Harry had seen something, _two _somethings, sticking out of it.

That was _his _wand, he'd know it anywhere, and Pettigrew's own wand was in his hand, so he was prepared to bet his entire fortune that the other one was Neville's.

"So?" said Neville when Harry whispered the news excitedly to him. "So, they kept our wands. Great. How do you suggest we get them back?"

"We could work it into the other plan."

"Harry, no way. Look, you couldn't pass for Voldemort in a hailstorm in a solar eclipse with a bag on your head. He has a whole…" he motioned with his tied hands. "You know, thing. Stance. Plus, your eyes go all red when he does it, and the voice…"

Harry made a face. "Red eyes? Seriously?"

"_Yes_."

"What if it was really dark?"

"We'd be on the move, what'd be the point of that?"

"Not if we had a distraction that got them to stay in one place for a day and a night. Then I scream, shudder, pretend my scar is on fire and then stand up and be Voldemort. Then I get them to untie us, tell them I'm sticking around and then when I've given them all jobs to do, you and I make a run for it."

Neville groaned. "You do realise that if it doesn't work, that's it for us. They won't be fooled a second time if they aren't on the first."

"I just need…" Harry muttered. "Preparation."

He was interrupted in his ingenious scheming, however, by Lucius emerging from the tent with Bellatrix. Again. Harry remembered how Lucius had shouted at her in the Department of Mysteries and hadn't seemed to care about her at all. It was true. Azkaban awoke something... primal in people.

"Draco, come out here."

Malfoy stumbled out of his tent. He looked furious about something. "Yes, _Father_?" He stressed the word considerably.

"The Master requested that I make an example of you," said Lucius Malfoy, sounding almost sympathetic. "However, Bellatrix has asked that I go easy on you. Say thank you, Draco."

Malfoy took a step back. "Thank you? To _her_? No thanks!"

"Now, now Draco," said Lucius, frowning. "Manners."

"I'm surprised you remember the meaning of the word," snarled Malfoy. "I can't believe you did this to Mother! I can't believe you're still doing it!"

Harry glanced at Neville. "Are you lost?"

"A little," whispered Neville.

Lucius Malfoy drew his wand. "You disappoint me," he muttered.

His son took another step back. "Don't you dare touch me!"

Lucius' sneer was suddenly akin to the one he'd worn before Azkaban. "_Crucio_!"

O0o0O

Draco's bones were on fire. Every fibre of his being was stretching, ripping apart. White-hot knives pierced him all over, again and again and again…

It stopped. He opened his eyes and whimpered. He was on the floor, his father standing feet away from him, Lestrange standing just behind his shoulder.

"Why?" he coughed. "Why would you do this?"

Lucius' arm snaked around Bellatrix's waist as he raised his wand once more.

"N-no," Draco stammered. "This isn't you. Azkaban did this to-"

Pain came again, as though he was being flogged with bladed whips and having salt rubbed into the wounds. He screamed, fire racing up his limbs.

He knew it wasn't really Azkaban. His father had always been like this. Cold, uncaring, terrifying. A combination of the island prison, Bellatrix and Voldemort had caused him to direct his malice upon his son. Before the pain completely overcame his senses, one clear thought came to his mind.

_I've got to get out of here. _

Then blackness washed over him, and the pain was gone.

O0o0O

Neville opened his eyes when the screaming stopped. "Oh, that's horrible," he gulped. "How could anyone do that to their own son?"

Harry didn't answer. There was silence for a while before he whispered; "I think he's passed out."

"We move in an hour," Lucius announced, replacing his wand in the folds of his robes. He didn't look down at his son. "We grow near to our destination."

"Oh good," muttered Harry. "Now would be a really good time for some help, Dumbledore."

O0o0O

Ron stuffed the last new book into his trunk just as Hermione entered the room. "All ready?" she asked.

"All set," he said. "Hopefully no one will come up with anything else they needed between now and next week."

"If they do, I'd be surprised if they mentioned it," said Hermione. "I know _I _wouldn't after what Moody said about Diagon Alley."

"Moody's paranoid," said Ron, unnecessarily. "We didn't get attacked today, did we?"

"No, but that's why we went today," said Hermione. "If we'd have gone next week, well…"

"If they're expecting something to happen they should stop everyone from going then," muttered Ron.

"That would make people panic," Hermione pointed out, stung a little by his tone, as though it were _her _fault they'd had to go to Diagon Alley a week early. "Dumbledore's warning everyone he can…"

"I know," said Ron, shutting the lid of his trunk and sinking onto it. "I know, I'm sorry. It's just…"

"Yeah," said Hermione. "I'm sorry Harry missed the trip too."

"It's like people have forgotten about him!" Ron burst out. "I know you haven't!" he said quickly, on seeing the look on Hermione's face. "And I know no one else has either. But…"

"You feel helpless?"

Ron nodded, miserably. Despite the strange quietness in Diagon Alley, he'd still managed to enjoy himself for a few blissful hours. But as soon as he'd got back and seen Hedwig, sleeping in Pigwidgeon's cage, he'd hated himself for it.

"Me too," said Hermione, making him look up in surprise. "I just _wish _we were allowed in the library!"

Ron could not see what this had to do with anything at all.

"I want to research that smoky stuff everyone's talking about," she explained quickly. "The red stuff at Harry's house and the blue stuff at Neville's gran's place. It could be a vital clue! I know Professor Lupin and the order are looking into it as much as they can, and I know Moody's been filtering out all the books that could be useful from the library, but I just _know _I could be more help."

Ron knew this too, but didn't know why. He wasn't nearly as good at research as Hermione was.

"Just wait till we get back to Hogwarts," he reassured her. "The library won't know what's hit it."

She smiled a little. "Thanks, Ron," she said. "I just hope Harry comes back before then."

_Me__ too,_ thought Ron. _Me too._

O0o0O

The journey had been one of the worst yet. Malfoy had woken up just when they'd started to leave. No one had said anything to him, so he'd hung back near Harry and Neville, limping, not meeting anyone's eyes. Harry couldn't help but feel sorry for Malfoy. He certainly deserved being turned into a ferret once in a while… possibly even a broken arm, but no one deserved the Cruciatus curse, especially from their own father.

Bellatrix certainly looked pleased, but, as always, looked more in Neville's direction that she did anyone else's. Neville had told Harry about the psychologically damaging incident when Bellatrix had told him she wanted to be his new mother. Harry had a feeling that Neville being here had more to do with him being fed to Nagini.

After traipsing for miles through thick forest, they stopped at last as the sun finally came up. Harry yawned as he and Neville were pushed into sitting positions. The Death Eaters crawled into their tents, murmuring only slightly amongst themselves. One of the younger Death Eaters was put on watch, and mumbling irritably he sat up against a rock opposite and pulled out his wand to build a tiny fire.

"Guess that means 'feel free to go to sleep'," whispered Harry to Neville, stretching out his legs and taking off his glasses, holding them loosely between his tied hands.

"Thank goodness," yawned Neville. "If we get out of this, I'm never walking anywhere ever again."

Harry chuckled despite himself. "Well, enjoy it while you can," he yawned. "I've got the feeling we're getting close."

"Yes, sir," sighed Neville, happily. Harry closed his eyes. He hadn't slept well for weeks, obviously, but at least he hadn't been visited by the usual nightmares, or even the unusual ones where he woke up with his scar threatening to split his head in two. He didn't seem to be able to stay asleep long enough for one to crop up. Either that or he was just too exhausted from walking for his subconscious to threaten him. Like now, as he leant back against the trees and he felt his body succumb to fatigue.

Until he woke with a start as a hand snaked around his shoulders and clamped over his mouth.

"Don't panic, Potter," whispered a horribly familiar voice from behind him. The hand was removed and Harry felt a sharp blade against his wrists. He kept very still.

"I've run out of panic," he whispered back. "What are you doing, Malfoy?"

"Shut up," was the only answering whisper. There was friction and a tug as the ropes fell away. Feeling Harry hadn't realised was missing started to return to his fingers. He winced at the pain, but did not move as Malfoy moved over to Neville. He glanced over at the guard that was meant to be watching them. He seemed to have fallen asleep, but there was a slightly blue haze to the air around him which made Harry think otherwise.

"Hey – what -?" Neville mumbled as he jerked back into consciousness.

"S'all right, Nev," Harry whispered quickly. "Don't move." When Neville's ropes were cut, Malfoy grabbed Harry's sleeve and dragged him back into the cover of the trees. Neville scrambled to his feet and followed.

"What are you playing at?" Harry growled at Malfoy, suspicion taking over his impulse to celebrate his freedom.

"Getting you out before the blue stuff touches you," Malfoy sneered. "You want to get knocked out, fine by me."

"Why get us out _at all_?"

"I don't have to explain to you, Potter. Just get the hell out and try to get killed. I'd do it myself only I'm not permitted to perform the killing curse yet and father would know if I used this," he waved the knife he'd used to cut them free.

"But you're permitted to let us go?" Neville asked.

Malfoy glared at him. "Just go. The blue stuff should keep most of them out for a few hours. If they catch you afterwards and you tell on me then I'll knife you in the night no matter what. Got it?"

Harry still suspected a trick.

"Harry?" It took a moment for Harry to realise that Neville was already walking deeper into the forest. "Come on!"

Harry turned to look at Malfoy. His eyes narrowed as he looked at the blonde boy, who was taller than him but seemed momentarily cowed by his treachery. "You're not doing yourself any favours, Malfoy," he growled. "Next time I see you, I'll do so much worse than break your arm."

"I'm terrified, Potter," Malfoy sneered. "Go."

Harry followed Neville into the forest, glancing behind him at intervals to check that Malfoy wasn't going to recapture them and make out he'd done the Death Eaters a favour.

Now that Draco thought about it, that wouldn't be such a bad idea. But no. That wouldn't solve the problem. They'd still be wandering around in Muggle towns, _walking, _of all things, towards wherever they were going, his father and Bellatrix constantly all over each other, the men spinning stupid stories about some… he could hardly think the words… bastard child of theirs, sleeping on the ground, and his father… his father had performed the Cruciatus curse on him. Things could never get any worse.

Draco Malfoy turned to go back to the camp and let himself get knocked out by the blue stuff, to avoid suspicion, when something silver and fist-shaped hit him on the back of the head, and he fell to the ground.


	10. In Which Identity is Lost

_Previously: _

_Harry turned to look at Malfoy. "You're not doing yourself any favours, Malfoy," he growled. "Next time I see you, I'll do so much worse than break your arm."_

_Harry followed Neville into the forest, glancing behind him at intervals to check that Malfoy wasn't going to recapture them and make out he'd done the Death Eaters a favour. _

_Draco Malfoy turned to go back to the camp and let himself get knocked out by the blue stuff, to avoid suspicion, when something silver and fist-shaped hit him on the back of the head, and he fell to the ground._

**Evanesco**

**Chapter 9 **

**In Which Identity Is Lost**

"Harry, stop!"

Harry slowed. Neville had dropped to one knee in a small clearing just behind him. "I know you want to make distance," he panted. "But they're knocked out; I reckon we've got a head start."

"And I want to keep it," Harry told him sharply. Neville glared up at him. Harry's eyes widened. There was a cut under Neville's left eye that had bled down his cheek and spotted his t-shirt red. "Ouch, Neville… sorry." Calming down, he noticed that his own T-shirt was ripped from their run through the forest. "Ok," he breathed. "Let's rest."

"I like that plan." Neville pulled the bottom of his shirt up to wipe his cheek. It didn't really make him look any better. "Ow."

"Something whip you?"

"A branch, I think. We were going kinda fast. Which I get," he said quickly, as if he thought Harry would yell at him for complaining. "I'm just… not really built for it."

"Mm," Harry groaned, sitting down next to him and running one hand through his hair. "I'm not exactly at full strength either. When was the last time we ate?"

"No idea."

"I can't believe Malfoy did that."

"Me neither," said Neville. "Though I guess… after his father cursed him like that…"

"Death Eaters do that all the time," Harry said, darkly. "It's probably a rite of passage thing, to have it done to you."

"Why then?"

"I don't know. I still think maybe it was a trick."

"And yet, here we are."

"Yeah."

They took a few minutes to catch their breath. Harry looked at his wrists. They'd hurt when the ropes had been removed but he hadn't thought about it since. They were red raw, and bleeding in places. He glanced over to see that Neville's were the same. "This'll get infected," he admitted. "Your face, too."

Neville grimaced. "Great," he muttered. "One more thing to worry about."

Harry contemplated ripping a strip off his T-shirt to bandage himself with, but he knew he couldn't afford to lose any more clothes. The nights had been cold enough while walking, and the chill of the mornings and late evenings staved off only by the Death Eaters' fire.

He looked around, counting himself lucky that he still had his glasses. "I guess we'd better keep going," he said. "Until we find help, anyway."

"Help from whom, exactly?" Neville sighed, obviously not relishing the thought of more walking.

"I don't know. Even a Muggle who speaks enough English to tell us where we are would be useful." Harry stood up and stretched. His arms felt uncomfortable after being tied together for so long. "Let's go."

Neville groaned as he stood, but stretched his arms in imitation of Harry. "Right. Which direction?"

Harry pointed hopefully.

O0o0O

Draco didn't open his eyes when he woke. This was a habit; he'd developed it at Hogwarts where it was beneficial for people to believe you were asleep while they talked about you. Now, it gave him time to realise what the hell was going on as he took in the fact that he had been lying on leaves and sticks instead of his bed or the canvas floor of the tent, his hands and feet were bound and there was a painful thudding at the back of his head where something had hit him.

_Crap. _

"… by now," someone was saying. Draco didn't recognise the voice. "They'll never catch them."

"Probably," muttered someone else. That was Farwell. "Malfoy junior's in a _lot_ of trouble."

_Thanks a lot_, _Captain Obvious,_ thought Draco, heart pounding. _Oh, I'm so screwed._

A crashing noise came closer and closer from somewhere in front of him. "Nothing," growled the very angry voice of Barnabus Travis. "That bastard kid – where is he?"

"Orders is to let him be 'till Malfoy gets back," Farwell drawled.

"Screw Malfoy's orders!" Travis yelled. Next moment, Draco was pulled upright by his robe front. He let his eyes snap open, and found himself staring into Travis' large, angry face. "Do you have any idea what you've done, brat?" the man shouted. "Well?"

Draco decided he really couldn't get into any more trouble than he already was. He spat in Travis' face. The Death Eater threw his down and wiped his cheek. "You'll pay for that," he growled. "For a long, long time."

Draco remembered the rumours about Travis' proficiency in torture methods, and couldn't suppress a shudder.

"Enough, Travis," said a soft voice from the other side of the clearing. Draco looked over. The tents were in a dishevelled mess, as if people had knocked them over as they passed and hadn't bothered to pick them up again. It was pure daylight now; Draco couldn't judge how long he'd been unconscious. Sitting amongst the wreckage was Wormtail, idly crushing small stones into dust. It was he who had spoken.

"And why aren't you out searching, Wormtail?" Travis asked, scathingly, but took a small step away from Draco all the same.

"I don't see how that's my responsibility," said Wormtail. "I caught him – you were the ones snoring your heads off, unawares."

"He used the fainting gas on us!" bellowed Travis. "Why weren't you affected?"

"Because I was smart enough to set up my tent upwind."

"Or lucky enough," Travis growled, but not loud enough for Wormtail to hear. Draco didn't think that was the reason, though. He'd spread the fainting gas (a crude name, but all anyone had been able to think up upon its completion) in every direction, with his wand, saving the spot where Potter and Longbottom had been sitting. Wormtail wasn't telling the absolute truth.

He scolded himself inwardly. _Not the thing to be worrying about right now! _

Death Eaters started coming out of the forest, one by one or in twos, all glaring at Draco, who did his best not to look as though his heart was about to burst out of his chest. He tried to sit up, but it was hard with his hands tied together. For the second time, he felt a flush of sympathy for Potter and Longbottom, but he shook his head, and it passed. _After all,_ he thought. _Who's the one tied up now? Who are the free ones?_

Bloody hell. No matter _what _he did, Potter always managed to come out on top. The bastard.

There was silence when Lucius Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange entered the clearing. Lucius seemed subdued. Bellatrix, her hands balled into fists and her hair tangled, with dirt on her robes and blood on her bottom lip where she'd bitten it (Draco hoped), looked as though she'd lost any strands of sanity she'd had left.

"Everyone has returned?" he enquired of Wormtail, who nodded.

"You found nothing?" Wormtail asked, unnecessarily.

"No!" Bellatrix howled. "And it's all because of _him_, Lucius!" she pointed accusingly at Draco. All of the alluring sing-song quality in her voice had vanished.

Lucius sighed, and turned to his son. Draco's breath tightened as he met his father's eyes.

O0o0O

Albus Dumbledore removed his half-moon spectacles and rubbed the bridge of his nose, distractedly.

He knew in his heart now that Harry hadn't run away. None of his belongings except his wand had been taken, and while there hadn't been any sign of a struggle at the house, the blood found in the demolished school classroom had been tested – and found to be Harry's.

But still…

The dreadful memory of Tom Riddle speaking to him through Harry's mouth in the Atrium at the Ministry of Magic weighed dreadfully on Albus' mind.

His heart was also telling him that Harry and Neville would not be returning for the beginning of the school year.

The Hogwarts Express would leave platform nine and three quarters in three days.

O0o0O

"I hoped it would not come to this," Lucius Malfoy murmured, loud enough for the whole group to hear. "But the Dark Lord saw the uncertainness in you."

_Cheek! _"Then I'm really surprised he didn't see the madness in you!" Draco shouted, without thinking, forgetting they were being watched by twenty or so spectators, forgetting manners, forgetting his predicament, forgetting even, for a moment, his fear.

Lucius frowned. He drew his wand, and for some reason it struck Draco that it wasn't his own – that had been snapped when he went to Azkaban. "I must admit I've been wanting to try this out," he said, and he didn't mean the wand.

_Oh, that doesn't sound good._

"Father," Draco said quickly. "I'm sorry, I – I just wanted you to stop… I wanted to go home, I –"

"It's a little late for that, Draco."

"I know, I'm sorry…"

"You have put all our lives in danger by not only allowing Potter to escape, but _facilitating_ it. You are a traitor!"

The word rang in Draco's ears. The worst thing that could have been said, had been said.

Bellatrix stepped forward; she knelt so her eyes were on a level with Draco's. Her eyes burned with madness. "You stole my baby!" she suddenly screeched, and one hand whipped around and caught him on the face. Her sharp fingernails, like claws, left a deep scratch on his left cheek.

"Enough," Lucius said, softly. Bellatrix went back to him, hung on his arm.

Draco looked back up at them. Unbidden tears stung his eyes. "Why are you doing this?" he asked his father. "How could you do this to Mother?"

Lucius raised his wand. Draco tried to struggle backwards, but came up against a tree and couldn't move any further. Desperately he lifted his bound hands to cover his face.

"_Tui__ nomen infligo._"

If Draco had ever had an electric shock, that would be how he would have described the feeling that followed. It was a sharp, fizzing pain in his head and stomach, following by a dull throbbing in his temples. But nothing compared to the Cruciatus Curse.

He looked up at his father in surprise. He was smiling. Wormtail stood up. "What was that, Lucius?"

"Yes, what was it?" Travis asked. "I've never heard that spell before."

"And I'd be surprised if you did," Lucius drawled. "How does that feel, Draco?"

Draco was about to reply that it hadn't really hurt at all, and 'what are you playing at?' when his world suddenly exploded with pain, and he screamed. His head felt like it was being squeezed in an iron vice, his stomach burned as though he'd swallowed acid. It seemed to last for hours, but it was really just a minute before he collapsed, panting, in a heap. He hadn't even realised he'd been convulsing. He tasted blood.

The Death Eaters applauded. "What triggers it?" someone asked.

"His name," said Lucius, and they fell silent, staring at him in shock. "And that will happen every time you hear it," he told Draco, who looked up at him, horrified, his head still throbbing, his stomach cramped. "If it's not clear to you by now, you have been disowned." He pulled Draco's own wand from his pocket – and snapped it.

Draco could almost hear his world collapse. His nose was bleeding, soaking his lips and chin with coppery redness.

"Now go," said Lucius, pointing his wand at his son once again, but this time only to release the ropes. The spectators moved forward as one to protest.

"What are you _doing_, Lucius?" Wormtail shouted.

"You can't let him go!" Farwell protested.

"The Dark Lord will have your head – all our heads!" Travis bellowed.

Draco scrambled upright, and ran.

O0o0O

"I think I've seen that rock before."

"You're kidding."

"Nope." Harry sank into an undignified heap on the ground. "Damn it!"

"How long do you think we've been going round in circles?"

Harry shook his head in pure frustration, then got up and kicked a pile of leaves. It didn't help. "Sorry," he said. "But we've got to keep going – we could be closer to them than we were an hour ago."

"Rest?" Neville panted, leaning heavily against a tree.

"Yeah," said Harry. He felt weak and sick from lack of food and sleep. It wasn't the best condition in which to start an inter-country marathon.

There was a small noise from the trees, barely noticeable. "Shh," Harry muttered. "D'you hear that?"

Neville closed his eyes. "No."

_Crash! _

"Run!" Harry yelled, grabbing Neville's sleeve and hurtling onwards, picking a random direction that seemed to go away from the sound. Together they crashed through the trees, blindly, shielding their faces with their arms and tripping occasionally over the uneven ground.

Harry slammed into something and fell backwards. Neville ran on for several yards before noticing, and, cursing, turning back.

Draco Malfoy was lying on top of Harry, groaning. Neville, who was bigger than Malfoy, pushed him off, roughly. "Harry!"

Harry could see stars, and not the pretty white ones. Blue and green lights flashed across his vision as Neville helped him to sit up. "Come _on_!"

Harry struggled to his feet. "Ow," he groaned, rubbing at his forehead where a large bump was rising. He stared over at Malfoy, who was painfully raising himself onto his elbows. "What the hell?"

"How clumsy _are _you, Potter?" Malfoy spat, standing up to face them. He was a mess. Blood had streamed from his nose and a cut on his cheek, making him look like he'd gone apple-bobbing in thick raspberry punch. His hair looked as though it had been backcombed for hours, his robes were ripped and covered in mud, and he looked as though he'd been crying.

Harry swore. "What the hell happened to you?"

"Snap," said Neville, motioning to his own cut.

"Mind your own business," growled Malfoy, sounding ridiculous under the circumstances.

"Fine," snapped Harry. "Stay here and die, Mal –"

"Don't!"

"-foy."

Malfoy screamed. Harry and Neville stared in horror as he doubled up, clutching at his stomach. He fell, first to his knees, and then curled up in a ball on the ground, twitching and groaning.

When it subsided, Harry couldn't move. Neville knelt by Malfoy and tried to pry his arms from around his head, but Malfoy pushed him weakly away. A small sob escaped his lips, before he coughed and spat into his hand. He wiped his upper lip with his sleeve, and his robes came away covered in fresh blood. "Damnit," he muttered.

"What… what _was _that?" Harry gasped.

Malfoy glared at him, clenching his trembling hands. "Do I look like I _know_, Potter?" he said, his voice shrill and frightened. "Just don't _say _it, that's all."

"Say what? What did I do?"

Malfoy punched the ground and gave an angry groan before his shoulders sank and he buried his face in his hands. "My name," he mumbled. "It hurts… when you say my name."

"Me?"

"No! Anyone!" Fresh tears were making their way through the blood and muck. Malfoy wiped them away, angrily.

Suddenly they could hear shouting from somewhere in front of them. "Neville!" Harry warned, and they started to run.

"Wait!"

They looked back at Malfoy, who struggled to his feet.

"What? You don't think we're taking you with us?" Harry scoffed.

Malfoy only stared back at him. Harry shook his head and turned to leave again, but Neville caught his arm. "Harry. He did let us go."

"So? He's a Death Eater!"

"He doesn't have the dark mark, I saw."

"SO? That doesn't mean anything!"

"They'll kill me if they find me," said Malfoy, softly.

Harry's conscience was split in two. _Why does this always happen to me? _he wondered, aware that the shouts and rustling of bushes was getting louder by the second. Desperately he looked at Neville, who looked blankly back at him. "Fine," he growled eventually, and made off into the forest at full speed.

Neville waited for a second. "We'll leave you if you can't keep up," he warned Malfoy, before speeding after Harry.

Draco ran after them.

O0o0O

It helped that they were all quite small and relatively fast compared to the Death Eaters, who were used to wizard transport and were too sophisticated to be seen on a broomstick or doing any form of exercise.

It didn't help that they were all exhausted, as Harry and Neville had been running for almost a day and Draco was still in a lot of pain, not to mention the fact that they'd been pretty tired and hungry before they'd started, anyway.

However, for once, their luck seemed to be holding up. Eventually the sound of their pursuers died away, and they could rest once more.

"Think they've given up?" Harry panted, flopping down onto the floor near the other two.

"In the long term? Not bloody likely," said Draco, irritably. "But for tonight? I think we're safe."

Harry sat up and looked him straight in the eyes. "Look here –" he stopped himself just in time from saying 'Malfoy' – "Let's get one thing straight. There is no 'we'. There's me and Neville, and then there's you. You're the enemy."

"Well then you're screwed," said Malfoy, a hint of the old sneer appearing on his face. "Because now you've got two enemies. Me and them." He jerked a thumb into the woods behind him.

Harry clenched his fists. "You're one of them!"

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "You don't _get _it, do you Potter? That… thing… that happens when anyone says my name? My _father _did that to me. Do you have any idea what that means?"

Harry thought. "That your father's a dangerous insanity case? Oh wait – I had that down."

Malfoy glared and lifted one hand as if he was about to get up and hit Harry, but was stayed by Neville.

"Watch it."

Malfoy stared. "What are _you _going to do, Longbottom?"

Neville shrugged, looking up from a dead leaf he was carefully stroking. "Don't see a wand on you. Think you could take me?"

Even Harry stared at this. Malfoy looked back at Harry. "What did you do to _him_?"

"Never you mind," snapped Harry, though he exchanged a look with Neville, who looked modestly pleased. "You were going to enlighten me on this… curse thing?"

Malfoy sighed. He avoided meeting Harry's eyes. "I've never heard of it before," he said. "I swear. But… no one can say my name. I can't hear my name without it hurting."

"I got that part," said Harry. The look Malfoy gave him suggested he'd prefer to speak without interruption.

"I don't have a name," Malfoy continued. "No identity, no family, nothing."

"So… you've been, like… renounced?"

"If that's how you want to put it. The word my father used was 'disowned'. And it's all because of _you_."

Harry didn't have the strength to work this out right now. "How'd you make that?"

Malfoy only glared at him, before hugging his knees and lowering his head.

Harry moved over to Neville. "Why did we bring him again?"

"You heard him," said Neville. "They'd kill him if they caught him. You want anyone's life on your conscience, even if it's Malfoy?"

Harry sighed. "I guess not. But he can't stick with us! We're on the run from Death Eaters – one of whom happens to be his father!"

"Who cursed him so he can't ever hear his own name without feeling pain? Imagine what that would do to you." Harry imagined this, and shuddered. "Look, I hate him as much as the next person – possibly more – but I think he has as much reason for trying to get away from them as we do," Neville continued. They looked over at Malfoy, who must know they were talking about him.

"Ok," Harry muttered. "But if he crosses us…"

"Oh, you can kill him dead," Neville agreed quickly.

They stood. "We keep going," Harry announced, and Malfoy looked up, surprised.

"Finished deliberating?"

"Yeah," said Harry. "You should probably know that we _will_ hand you over if you try and betray us."

Malfoy rolled his eyes as he stood, wincing. "Talk about melodramatic, Potter."

Harry ignored this. "But you'll need a name."

"What?" Malfoy snapped.

"Well, we have to call you _something_."

Malfoy seemed to think about this. "Very well," he said, a slight triumphant sneer appearing on his face. Harry was almost glad, because at least that was normal. "You may call me by my mother's maiden name."

When Harry realised what he was suggesting he had to clench his fists again to stop himself from punching him. _Wow_, he thought. _Since when did I have self-control?_

"Fine," he said. "But you need a first name."

"What for?" Malfoy asked, exasperated.

Harry took a step forward. "If you think I'm going to call you 'Black'," he growled. "You've got another thing coming. Pick - a - first - name."

"Tobias," said Malfoy after a moment. "After my grandfather."

"For someone who doesn't have a family, you've got an awful lot of relatives to choose names from," said Neville.

"So how does this work?" said Malfoy, ignoring him. "We've going to have to sleep at some point."

"Next stop, Toby," said Harry, in mock-cheerfulness.

He and Neville started walking, suppressing sniggers as Malfoy called from behind them. "And don't call me Toby!"

**_Well, that's all folks! For this chapter, anyway. I've churned out two chapters in under two weeks. Pray that this keeps up! Please leave me a review with your comments, and join the Evanesco Yahoo Group: _**

**_http/ groups._****_ group/evanesco/ (without the spaces). Some heavily photoshopped files have been added, courtesy of yours truly ;-)_**

****

**_Love Laterose._**


	11. In Which There Be Monsters

**Hey, guys. Listen, I just realised that the deleted my paragraph breaks in the last few chapters – sorry if it was hard to understand! Anyway, it's all fixed now. Review thanks are below.**

_Previously: _

_"So how does this work?" said Malfoy, ignoring him. "We've going to have to sleep at some point."_

_"Next stop, Toby," said Harry, in mock-cheerfulness. _

_He and Neville started walking, suppressing sniggers as Malfoy called from behind them. "And don't call me Toby!" _

**Evanesco**

**Chapter 10**

**In Which There Be Monsters**

It was dark again by the time they stopped. They hadn't yet reached the edge of the trees, which seemed to go on forever. Harry thought that this woodland might be even bigger than the Forbidden Forest, but he was sure they would reach something soon, some sign of human life.

Neville and Malfoy flopped down immediately onto the brush, stretching their sore legs and breathing heavily. "Finally," groaned Malfoy. "We must have walked _miles_."

"About four, probably," said Harry, looking around the spot. He didn't know what he was checking for, but he was too nervous to sit down yet.

"Come off it. It's got to be at least a hundred."

"I don't think there's a forest in the world that's a hundred miles long," said Neville.

"Then we've been going round in circles," moaned Malfoy.

"Stop complaining," said Harry. "I've been following the sun – we've done a straight line."

Malfoy stared at him. "Since when were you so woodsy?"

Harry glared. "I'm not. It's common sense."

"Well," said Malfoy, stretching. "I don't suppose you have common sense enough to light a fire?"

Silence.

"Thought not."

"Won't they be able to see a fire?" said Neville, meaning the Death Eaters, "Or the smoke, at least?"

"Not if they're still in the forest," said Malfoy. "And we'll freeze otherwise."

Harry sat down. "None of us has a wand," he pointed out. "How do you suggest we light one?"

Malfoy shrugged. "Do it without a wand."

"_How_?"

"I don't know, just… point at it." Harry and Neville stared at him. "Come on," said Malfoy. "Are we wizards or what?"

Harry did not have a very good feeling about this, but he helped the two of them gather twigs and brush and throw it in a pile, clearing the area around it to make a wide dirt ring, to stop it spreading.

_To stop _what _spreading_? Harry thought.

"Ok," said Malfoy, and pointed at the pile of sticks. "Incendio!"

Nothing happened.

"Try it with the wand movement," said Neville, demonstrating a flick with his own arm and pointing. "_Incendio!_" Nothing.

"_Incendio_!" said Malfoy again, flapping his arm. "Ok, now I feel stupid," he said, lowering his hand. "You try."

"It won't work," said Harry.

"Sure it won't," said Malfoy. "Come on, Potter. Somehow you always manage to do everything."

Harry knew this was an insult, not a compliment. Still, it couldn't hurt to try, so he pointed. "_Incendio!_"

Silence.

"Told you it wouldn't work," said Harry.

"Try again," said Neville.

"_Incendio!_"

Nothing visible happened, but Harry felt something pop behind his eyes. Suddenly there was a black film on the edge of his vision, closing in fast. From far away, he heard someone yelling. _They found us, _he thought, but for some reason he didn't really care anymore. When the black walls met in the middle, he couldn't hear it anymore.

O0o0O

Draco watched Harry collapse with amusement.

"Harry!" shouted Neville, pulling the prone form onto its back. "Harry!"

"I think we broke him," said Malfoy, leaning over to get a better look.

"Shut up or help, Mal-Tobias."

Draco glared, but was about to get up and help Neville manoeuvre Harry's limbs into a more comfortable position when he saw something flicker within the pile of twigs and leaves. "Whoa - hey!" he shouted.

"What now?"

Draco tentatively pushed aside some of the sturdier sticks to reveal smoke, and a small flame. The leaves underneath had caught fire. He laughed. "Potter did it!"

"Yeah, and nearly killed himself in the process," Neville growled, checking Harry's pulse. He sighed in relief when he felt it. "He's ok – I think. He just overdid it."

"Well if he was going to overdo it, he should have started a massive bonfire, not this pathetic thing," Draco mocked, trying to feed the flame with more leaves, and then sticks. "Ooh, I set a leaf on fire – thump."

"Shut up," said Neville, but he joined in the fire-building. Before long they could warm their hands on it. It made a little too much smoke for Neville's comfort, but they couldn't really help that.

"Good thing it's summer," said Draco. "God knows what the weather's like here in the winter."

"Maybe this _is _winter," said Neville.

"I really doubt we've made it all the way to Australia, Longbottom," said Draco. But he found it hard to sound certain.

When Harry finally came around, Neville was asleep and 'Tobias' was lying stretched out in front of the fire. It was pitch dark in the trees all around them – only the fire's flickering light illuminated their faces. "What…what happened?" he yawned.

Draco turned over. "Congrats, Potter," he said. "You've lived up to the do-it-all persona once again."

Harry stared at the fire. "I didn't do that!"

"No," Draco grinned. "You made a flicker. Luckily, flickers grow. Now all you have to do is pass out every night and we're set."

Harry glowered. "Not likely," he said. "Next time you can do the passing out."

"But you do it so well," Draco sniggered.

Harry glanced upwards at the moon. "Anyway," said Draco. "I've been on first watch for about three hours now, so you can take second."

"Watch?" Harry asked, still a little befuddled.

"To warn us if anyone comes, stupid," said Draco. "What happened to all that 'common sense' you had earlier?"

This woke Harry up a bit. "Fine," he said. Draco rolled over and went to sleep.

Harry woke Neville when he could no longer keep his eyes open, kicked off his shoes and curled up in a pile of leaves. Neville managed ten minutes before he fell back to sleep.

O0o0O

A sunbeam hit Harry's eyes like a laser. He groaned and lifted a hand to shield his eyes. Seconds later he sat up, ignoring the pain as he stared around. The fire had burned down to a pile of black ashes, and the sun was high in the sky. He swore and stood up, kicked dirt and brush of over the blackened area and shouted. "Get up! Come on!"

Neville and Draco sat up slowly, rubbing their eyes. "What?" moaned Draco.

"What do you think? It's noon!"

Neville was suddenly wide awake, looking horrified. "Oh god, Harry – I'm sorry – I must have fallen asleep…"

"Doesn't matter," said Harry, grabbing his shoes and jamming them on. He was angry, but he knew he didn't have time to take it out on Neville. "What matters is that we _get moving_, now, before we're ambushed."

He looked over at Draco. _Toby_, he reminded himself. If he messed up and used the boy's real name in a fight, they were done for. He was an annoying bastard, but he did know how to fight, and probably wouldn't stop at using Dark Arts. Not that any of them had wands, but Harry made a mental note to try and get information out of him when there was time.

They walked briskly for a few miles, before falling back into the tired, slouching walk they had acquired the previous day. Harry knew there was nothing he could do about it – despite their rest none of them were fit for a day-long sprint. One of them would get sick if they didn't eat soon, and Harry thought it would probably be him. Tobias had been privy to the Death Eater's supplies, and Neville had some extra energy in his padding. Harry hadn't exactly been fattened up before starting this whole endeavour.

It got dark quickly. It was a warm night, even Draco didn't suggest that they try fire again. Harry offered to take first watch.

He was deep in Occlumency practice when he heard a growl. He opened his eyes and found himself staring through the trees at a pair of glowing, yellowy eyes. The creature growled again.

"Crap," Harry whispered. "Neville! Mal –Tobias!"

They stirred when he reached over with his foot and kicked them. "Ow," Neville moaned.

"Shut up," Harry murmured. "We have to run."

"Why?"

They turned to look in the direction he was staring.

"What's _that_?" Draco hissed.

"A wolf?" whispered Neville.

"If it is, it's a really big one," Harry whispered back. "Let's go."

The wolf took a step forward, into the moonlight. Foam dripped from its fangs, which looked too big for its long . Harry, although looking away from the thing went against his every instinct, looked up at the moon. It was full. "RUN!"

He could hear Neville behind him as he sprinted, vaguely aware of his stomach rumbling, but too anxious that the thing was right on his heels to care. He heard a scream, and, with supreme force of willpower, stopped and turned.

Neville was right behind him, but that was all. Harry swore. "Where's Malfoy?"

Neville looked back. Harry heard another scream, and this time he recognised the voice. "Oh crap – it's got him!"

"Well – we've got to go help him!"

Harry grabbed his arm and looked and raised his eyebrows, pointedly. "That was a werewolf."

"What? How do you know?"

"Hello – full moon, larger-than-life wolf in the middle of nowhere, all by itself…"

"That doesn't mean it's a –"

"Neville, I've seen a werewolf, and that _was _one. There's no way we can fight it, unless you happen to be an Animagus."

"Er… I don't think so."

"Right then."

"So what kills a werewolf?"

Harry's mind went blank. His half-finished essay on werewolves he'd written in third year seemed so very long ago. "Um… other werewolves?" he suggested

"I really hope not," said Neville, shuddering.

"Er – silver?"

"Do I look like I'm carrying around the contents of the dining room dinner set?"

"All right, you come up with something then."

Neville looked away. "Concent_rate_," he muttered. Then he looked back up at Harry, excited. "Fire!"

"Right, because fire kills everything," Harry remembered. Then he realised what Neville was suggesting he do. "But I can't!"

"Harry, you have to." Neville jumped slightly and grabbed a thin branch of a tree just above his head. It cracked, so he tugged, and it broke.

"I'll pass out, what good will that be?"

"Harry! Just – do – it."

Harry sighed in desperation, but incanted: "_Incendio." _Nothing happened. He heard a howl, short and triumphant.

"You're not trying hard enough!"

When Harry raised him arm a second time, a third scream cut the air like a knife, even from so far away. "_Incendio!"_

The tip of the branch burst into flames. Neville almost dropped it. "Wow!" he said. "I wasn't really expecting you to do it!"

"Thanks," said Harry. He felt dizzy, but it wasn't the same as last time. He was so confused by this point that he no longer cared, however. "Let's go."

O0o0O

When Draco tripped, his only clear thought had been, _Hey – who put a tree root there? The bastards! _

Fortunately, his legs seemed to have become independent from his brain, and they barrelled him forward a few more feet, causing the gigantic creature to fall short of him slightly. He kicked out, wildly, hitting it on its side and causing it to snarl.

_Anger the raving beast, Malfoy, that's the way to do it! _he thought, hauling himself to his feet and starting to run for his life – in the opposite direction to the way Harry and Neville had gone.

He knew it was useless – the damn thing was twice his size – but he kept stumbling blindly in the darkness, spurred on by the sheer will to live. He screamed again as the sudden weight on his back caused him to collapse.

He could feel the thing's paws on his back, its hot breath on his neck, as it howled in victory. The next thing he felt was a hot, burning pain in his arm. He screamed again, and passed out.

O0o0O

Harry yelled as loud as he could as he followed the path of the wolf holding the burning branch aloft, trying both to move as fast as possible and to watch that the branch didn't catch on any of the surrounding trees. The last thing anyone needed right now was a forest fire. He saw the werewolf up ahead and charged forward, shouting to get its attention. "Hey – wolf-face! Over here!"

The wolf looked up from the prone body of Malfoy, blood on its lips. It saw the burning branch and backed off, reluctantly. "That's right," Harry muttered. "Get the hell out, go wait for the sun to come up…"

It ran away, howling in disappointment. Neville was already at Malfoy's side.

"Harry!"

Harry looked at the burning branch. There was no way he could put it down. Instead, he walked over to his friend, cleared a small area of forest debris, and stuck the dry end of the branch into the ground. "Torch," he remarked, a little proud of himself.

"H-Harry…"

For the first time, Harry looked down at Malfoy. He swore. The boy's right arm was covered in blood near the shoulder, and patches of it were splattered on the leaves surrounding him. Neville looked as though he wanted to be sick, but didn't move. "Is he…"

Harry tentatively reached for Malfoy's good shoulder and turned him over. His face and hair were covered in dirt and blood – he certainly looked like a corpse. Harry put his fingers to Malfoy's throat. He felt a faint beating there. "Still alive," he said, looking up at Neville.

"Oh, thank Merlin." Neville reached out to touch Malfoy's good arm. "Tobias? Toby? Wake up! Toby!"

"Come on," said Harry. "His robes are ruined anyway, he won't mind if we use them for bandages." Neville helped him take off the black Death-Eater robe to reveal the black underclothes again. Harry rolled his eyes at the embroidered Slytherin insignia in the corner of the shirt. He searched for the robes for the gash in the arm – which didn't take long – and worked from there to rip off large strips, which he passed to Neville.

"What about this?" Neville asked, pointing at the sleeve of the shirt that surrounded the wound.

"I think he _would _mind if we took off his shirt," said Harry. "Besides, he'll freeze. Maybe… just the sleeve?"

Neville tentatively ripped the sleeve off. He didn't make a very good job of it, but it revealed the wound. It looked like just what it was, as if a huge animal had bitten a chunk out of him. "Owch, Toby," Harry whispered.

"I wish we had some alcohol or water, or something – to clean it," said Neville, looking around.

"Well I don't think you're going to find any –" Harry started, but then Neville got up. "-thing," he finished.

"Dock leaves!" Neville announced, ripping off a few.

"Huh? Do they have magical properties?"

"Of course! Even Muggles know that! They help nettle stings," he said with a smile. "But also, cleansing and protection," he added, putting them over the wound and taking some of the black bandage to wrap it into place.

"Wait till we tell him we bandaged his wounds with leaves," Harry laughed. He helped Neville finish up the bandage before covering Tobias with the rest of the ruined robe. "Now what?" he felt like he'd forgotten something.

"We sleep?" Neville yawned. "Been kind of a long night, what with one thing or another. And there's still a couple of hours till sunrise."

Sunrise. Harry's brain suddenly kicked into action. "Uh-oh," he said.

"What?"

Harry didn't answer. Instead he reached over and used his thumb to lift up one of Toby's eyelids. The pupil was dilated, the iris easily visible.

Neville moaned in fear and frustration.

The silver-grey eyes that had characterised the Malfoy line for generations were gone. In their place was a pair that was strikingly familiar. Toby's eyes had turned a deep, vivid amber.

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	12. In Which There Be Furniture

**Thanks for the great response, guys. A quick note: there are short sentences in different languages in this chapter. At the bottom you can find translations, and also pronunciation for the place names. Enjoy!**

_Previously:_

_The silver-grey eyes that had characterised the Malfoy line for generations were gone. In their place was a pair that was strikingly familiar. Toby's eyes had turned a deep, vivid amber._

**Evanesco**

**Chapter 11**

**In Which There Be Furniture**

When Harry woke up, the first thing he couldn't help but notice was that he was starving. His stomach growled angrily at him as he shifted slightly – and nearly plummeted to his death.

Heart in his mouth, he jerked back with lightning speed, and his head thunked painfully against something solid. Heart pounding and breathing heavily, he took a moment to realise why he'd been sleeping in a tree. Relief that he was still alive flooded him, and he looked down to where, on the next branch down, Neville was snoring peacefully. Harry almost laughed._ Good thing we didn't have nightmares, _he thought wryly. _It's not the best sleeping arrangements for tossing and turning. _

Once he was sure he was completely awake, alive, and calm, he climbed slowly down to where Neville sat. He reached over and grabbed his friend's shoulders, shaking gently. He made sure to secure him in place so Neville wouldn't have the same experience as Harry had.

"Wassamarra?" Neville muttered.

"It's me," said Harry. "Sun's up."

Neville yawned, and opened his eyes. He squeaked in fear when he realised how high up he was. "Whose idea was this again?" he yelped.

"Yours," said Harry, truthfully. Once they had realised their own stupidity in not instantly seeing that Draco Malfoy was a werewolf, they had debated what their next move should be. Neither of them could remember whether a werewolf would transform on the same night it had been bitten, especially as early in the night as Toby had been, so Neville had suggested they sleep it out, and if he transformed, then he transformed.

"We just have to make sure he can't reach _us_," he had said. So Harry had suggested the tree. And Neville had gone white and reverted to his first-year stutter, but had eventually agreed.

And now, as they looked down, Tobias still lay in the robe-covered heap they had left him, at the foot of the tree. Their branch-torch had burned out, and stood blackened and shrivelled beside him.

"Well," said Harry. "There you go." He started to climb, but Neville stopped him.

"Harry! Don't you dare go down there and leave me up here!"

"Well, come on then."

Neville shuddered. "I wish I'd thought about getting down before I agreed to come up here."

"Neville!"

"Oh, _fine_."

Harry helped Neville get down the tree, suppressing his own anxiety that he was going to slip, fall and die at any second. When they reached the ground he breathed a silent sigh of relief.

"Let's _not _do that again," said Neville.

"Agreed."

They walked over to the prone figure. Tobias was pale as parchment. Harry felt his skin, it was clammy. "At least he's not cold," he muttered. "Much."

Blood had seeped from the makeshift bandage onto the forest floor. Neville grabbed the ruined robe and tore off another strip. Harry got up to get some more leaves – and saw a movement. "Oh _no_," he groaned.

"What?" said Neville, looking up.

"Something's watching us."

They stayed still for a minute, watching the trees. "All right," said Harry eventually. "Better show yourself right now or I'll set something on fire. I can, you know."

Slowly, cautiously, a man emerged from the surrounding forest. He was tall and very thin, wearing damp, rumpled looking clothes. His greying hair was dirty and wild, but his suit showed him to be at least partially civilised. Despite the hair, he looked young to middle aged. He didn't meet either of their eyes. Instead, he stared down at Tobias. "Ach Bůh," he said. "Ach Bůh…" His voice was scratchy, sounding almost painful.

Harry took a step forward, wishing now more than ever (well, more than usual) that he had his wand. "Who are you?" he snapped. "No offence, but we are sort of in a dangerous situation here."

The man looked up at him. "Tebe ar Anglicky?" he asked, then, seeing their blank faces; "You are… English?"

Harry frowned. "Oh perfect," he muttered.

"Yes," said Neville standing up and glaring pointedly at Harry. "Do you speak English?"

"Of courze," said the man, his speech slurred but recognisable. "My name iz Olav. You are?"

Neville answered before Harry could stop him. "I'm Neville and this is Harry," he said. "This is Tobias."

"Neville!" Harry hissed. "We don't even know who he is!"

Neville glared at him. Harry was quite taken aback. "Listen. Malfoy needs help – real help," Neville whispered. "We can't keep going like this, with no food and no shelter and hardly any clothes. He's not going to get _up _again until he gets proper care." He turned to look at Olav, who had gone back to staring at Tobias' prone form, ignoring the others even though it was obvious they were talking about him.

"Listen," said Neville. "Could you help us? We need –" he stopped suddenly as the man looked up at him, and their eyes met. Harry only needed to look for a second to see what had shocked Neville. Olav's eyes were small and narrowed, but they shone orange in the early morning light.

Neville backed away. Harry didn't move. Instead he said, half accusing, half in realisation; "You're the wolf from last night, aren't you?"

The man's expression did not change. "Ano," he said, nodding sadly.

Harry thought about this for a moment. For some reason, all he could think about was Professor Lupin, and that night, the first night he'd met Sirius for real, when Lupin had transformed under the moonlight. He'd tried to kill them all… but then he'd resigned from school the next day, because he thought he might hurt someone. Lupin was a good man. A little eccentric, sure, but a good man. That didn't mean all werewolves were like that, though.

"In that case," he said. "You really ought to help us."

Olav's eyes flickered towards Toby. "Oh yeah," said Harry. "He's one of you now. Isn't there some kind of … pack rule, or something? He'll die if you just leave us here."

Olav looked shocked at the suggestion. "I vill help," he said quickly. "I know zis…" he knelt beside Tobias and touched the bloodied arm gently. Neville still hadn't rewrapped the wound. "On is klení," he whispered, before lifting the boy in his arms and slinging him over his shoulder. It was a remarkable feat of strength for such a thin man, and Harry and Neville glanced at each other. Werewolf strength, Harry supposed.

The man strode off at an angle to the direction they had been travelling in. Harry and Neville had to walk quickly to keep up. "So… where are we, anyway?" said Harry. "We've sort of been… brought this far, and we not totally sure…"

"The Šumava," Olav told him.

"What's that?" said Neville.

"It isthe forest," said Olav. "The… how you say? Area."

"Okay," said Harry, lengthening his stride even more. "So what _country _are we in?"

Olav glanced down at him in surprise. "How you not know zis?"

"Uh…" said Harry. "Well, it's complicated… if you're a werewolf you must know about magic, right?"

Olav growled a little menacingly. "Yes," he muttered. "I know… Ministry."

"Oh right," said Neville. "You have one here?"

"Of course," said Olav. "Alvays vatching verevolves. Make sure we not hurt anyvone, not haff children."

"That's awful," said Neville. "I hope you don't think all wizards are bad."

Olav thought about this. "No," he said finally. "I know good vizard. You are vizards?"

"Well, wizards in training," said Harry. "We're still at school. Do you know about Voldemort?"

Olav stopped suddenly. "Vat?" he whispered. "You said… you…" his eyes widened. "Your friend said… your name is Harry?"

Harry didn't answer. "Maybe giving him our names wasn't the _best _idea ever, Neville," he muttered.

"You are Harry _Potter!_" Olav exclaimed. He looked more terrified than excited. "You killed You-Know-Who!"

"Well," said Harry. "Not properly. He's back, you see."

Olav's eyes widened even more, if that was at all possible. "Voldemort, here? Ach, to jest ne blaho…"

"And that's sort of how we don't know where we are," said Harry. "But I'd rather if we could talk about this somewhere safe, if you don't mind."

"Yes," said Olav, looking around furtively and starting to walk again, muttering in his own language. "We go, we talk later. Come now."

"So, where did you say we were?" said Harry, knowing Olav hadn't told them in the first place.

"Oh," said Olav. "Sorry – I forget. This is Česky Republika – Czech Republic."

oO0Oo

When Draco woke up, he was warmer and more comfortable than he had been for weeks. His hands explored a mattress covered with a worn sheet beneath him, and a thin duvet above. It was ten times better than the bedroll in his tent.

At this thought, the events of the past few weeks came rushing back at him. Last to come was the memory of the wolf, and the pain in his arm as it bit…. Instinctively he raised his left hand to touch his other shoulder, and a hot flash of pain ran down his right arm. He yelped and tried to sit up, but he accidentally bumped his elbow and that just made it hurt even more. He gave up, lay back, and rubbed his eyes with his left hand.

He opened them to a view of a room painted a hideous shade of brown, with bare furniture against the walls and a small painting of a field on the far wall. There was an overwhelming smell of lavender that made his eyes water. He made a face.

"Morning," said a cheerful voice from the foot of the bed. He looked, to see Longbottom, sitting in a chair with his feet propped up on the footboard, a book open in his lap, grinning inanely. There was a large white dressing on his left cheek.

Draco wanted to answer with a derisive comment, but was way too tired. He looked out of the window to a view of trees and mountains. "Looks more like mid-afternoon to me."

Neville put down the book. "Well, you've been unconscious for hours," he pointed out. "Are you ok?"

Draco swiped at his eyes, trying to breathe through his mouth. "Fine," he growled. "It stinks in here."

Neville sniffed. "No it doesn't."

Draco sighed deeply. "So where the hell are we?"

Neville smiled. "It's an inn in the village. Olav's family owns it"

"Who? What village?"

"This one. Don't ask me to pronounce it." Neville explained what had happened when Olav had found them in the forest… leaving out some key details, like the fact that Olav was a werewolf.

"I don't get it," said Draco. "Why'd this guy just… help?"

"Because some people are like that," said Neville, shrugging.

"What, like Potter, you mean?"

"Well, yeah."

Draco gave up. He hoisted himself into a semi-sitting position with his left hand. "Where _is_ Potter?"

"Talking to Olav, explaining stuff. We're hoping he might be able to help us get home."

"So where are we, really?"

"In the Czech Republic," said Neville.

"In the _what_?"

Neville picked up the book he'd been reading, and walked around to show it to the other boy. It was an atlas of sorts, opened to a page entitled 'Europe'. The countries were in bright colours, labelled in large letters. A children's book. Neville pointed to the small pink country in the centre. "Here, see?"

Draco stared at it. "That's halfway across the continent!"

Neville shrugged. "Well, yeah. But it's better than not knowing where we are at all. Plus," he said with a grin, "food and beds!"

Draco realised he was starving. "Food? Where?"

Neville got up. "Back in a minute."

Draco waited until the door was closed, then pushed off the duvet with his good hand and swung his legs off the bed. He looked down and grimaced. He was wearing ugly grey pyjamas that were far too big for him. He tried not to think about who would have dressed him while he was unconscious.

Looking behind the bed, he saw another door. He heaved himself to his feet, stretched out the kinks in his back and opened it. It was a bathroom, with a tiny shower, a brown toilet, a large cracked mirror and some freezing cold floor tiles. He used the toilet, wincing at the coldness of the metal, before turning apprehensively to look in the mirror.

His hair was a mess, that was the most obvious thing. Dirty and greasy from days of not being washed. Pale downy hair was growing on his chin, making him look even more like a tramp. At least his face was clean – someone must have rubbed the dirt off while he was asleep.

His fingers fumbled with the buttons of the pyjama shirt and tentatively he peeled it off. A creamy-coloured bandage was wrapped around his upper arm. He brought it up to his face, and sniffed it. The copper smell of dried blood reached his nostrils. He coughed and screwed up his nose. He splashed water onto his hair and scrubbed at it with a bar of gritty soap he found by the sink, grimacing, before rinsing it as best he could and rubbing vigorously at it, left-handed, with a towel.

He shoved the shirt back on, not bothering to do up the buttons, and was about to go back into the bedroom when he thought he noticed something. He turned back to the mirror and squinted at his reflection. He took a step closer, staring at his face.

Disbelieving, he reached out a hand to touch the glass surface, as if he could change what was reflected there.

oO0Oo

When Neville returned with a tray of the strange brown bread and soup they'd had earlier, it was to find Tobias sitting cross legged on the bed, cradling his injured arm in his lap, hair dripping down the back of his shirt.

"I come bearing food," said Neville, setting the tray down on the end of the bed. "Oh good, you washed up. Feel any better?" There was no answer. Neville noticed that the buttons on Tobias' shirt were undone. "Oh – we had a Muggle healer come look at you," he explained. "We told her you'd been bitten by a dog – she said it must have been a pretty _big _dog. Anyway she poked at you with some needles. Harry said it was to stop any diseases."

When there was still no answer from the other boy, Neville sat down in the chair again, looking at him. His hands were shaking. He whispered something.

"Sorry?" said Neville.

Tobias raised his head to look at him, amber eyes blinking away tears. Neville realised what must have happened.

"Muggle healer, huh?" chuckled Tobias dryly. "Guess there are certain diseases she didn't think of." He lowered his eyes. "Stop looking at me."

"Sorry."

"No, you're not. Bet you think this is funny."

"Of course not!" said Neville. "Why would I think that?"

"I don't know, maybe because we're enemies? Because you hate me, and I hate you?"

Neville pushed the tray towards him. "I'm not your enemy Toby," he said grimly. "I'm just the unfortunate who happened to attract your attention. Eat up."

"Don't call me Toby," Tobias muttered, ignoring the food. He looked out of the window. "There's some kids down there," he said. "Playing a game. Do you hear them?"

Neville listened. "No."

"I do." The boy rubbed at the spot under his shirt where the bandage was. "I can hear everything. Smell everything. I hate it!" he sobbed, lowering his head and pressing his hands against his ears. "Make it stop," he whispered, not to anyone in particular.

"I don't think I can," said Neville, wishing he wasn't alone in the room. Harry would probably just tell Malfoy to get over it, Neville knew he couldn't do that – even though he did _hate _the boy crying softly in front of him, he remembered. He just couldn't bring himself to express that particular emotion right now.

"It's not fair!" Tobias shouted. "My whole life, I've been afraid of two things – rejection by my family, and werewolves. And now I'm… I'm…." he laughed suddenly, rubbing at his eyes. "I guess I really am Tobias Black now, aren't I?" he said. "I thought before that maybe it was just temporary, that I'd get my… my father to take off this stupid… this… but he never will now. I'm inhuman. That's worse than being a Mudblood."

"Watch your mouth," Neville warned.

"Why should I?" Toby looked down at the food. "What _is _this? It smells like sewage."

"Well it's all we've got, so you better eat it," Neville snapped. "Olav's father is very generous, letting us stay here for free."

Toby held up the bread. "You expect me to eat this? It's like rock."

"Well, don't you have extra sharp teeth now, or something?" He ducked the slice of bread that was thrown at him.

oO0Oo

Having finished his story, Harry sat back, relaxed. Upon arriving at the inn, Olav had seen to Toby, putting him in one of the guest rooms and calling a doctor to see to him. She spoke good English, and had asked a lot of questions which Harry had done his best to answer with Olav looking anxiously over his shoulder. He decided that he much preferred Madame Pomfrey, who rarely asked questions even if you had leeks growing out of your eyes. The Muggle had, however, cleaned Neville's wound (with some very painful-sounding ointment) and dressed it with a big white sticking plaster. Harry's wrists itched where the rope wounds had scabbed over, but he was deemed healthy enough.

Once that was settled, Olav had shown them where they could shower, given them clean clothes from his nephew's cupboard and taken them to the kitchen, where his mother had been all too happy to feed them once she heard from Olav what had happened. She was very, very angry with him, and babbled furiously in Czech as she threw generous portions of soup and dumplings in front of the two boys before running upstairs to check on the boy her son had bitten.

Living permanently in the house, as far as Harry could make out, were Olav, his parents, his sister Livia, her husband and their son, who was currently away at university. He was, as Livia had proudly told Harry, the first in their family ever to go to one. Harry and Neville had thanked her profusely for lending them her son's clothes, even though Harry was very nearly drowned in clothes that obviously belonged to a man Olaf's height. They were comfortable, however, and when she was told that the two boys had no clothes with them at all, Livia had even packed some extra t-shirts and blankets into a rucksack. The boys had kept their own shoes.

After this, Neville went to sit with Toby, after surprisingly little argument, and Harry sat with Olav in his father's study and told the werewolf the story of how he and Neville had been taken, and how Tobias had joined them. Olav had asked a lot of questions about Tobias in particular, not that Harry could blame him. He decided against trying to persuade Olav that biting Draco Malfoy had been a good thing. Olav's English also got steadily better – Harry supposed it must have something to do with his human qualities, such as language skills, returning. Harry realised he really didn't know enough about werewolves, and resolved to ask Hermione about it when he got back.

"Vell," said Olav when they were finished. "I vill try and help you as much as I can. Sleep here tonight. You do not vant the Ministry of Magic… involved?"

"No," said Harry firmly. "There's no way of telling who in your Ministry supports Voldemort. Not in ours either," he added. "We can't tell anyone who we are unless we can trust them completely, we can't travel or even communicate by Floo because they could be watching the fireplaces, and Portkeys are out of the question as well, since they're pretty much impossible to get – I think. I only know one or two people with the ability to make one. So we're pretty much walking… or flying. Know anywhere we can buy a good broomstick for… well, nothing?"

Olav smiled. "I not know," he said. "But tomorrow, I vill tell you… vere you can go. I know good vizard who vill help you."

Harry smiled back. "Thanks Olav."

Olav stood. "Least I can do. Now I zink your friends are fighting upstairs."

Harry rolled his eyes. "I'm not surprised. How do you know?"

Olav pointed at his ears. "Good hearing."

"Right."

As they started up the stairs, Harry could hear shouting. "Brilliant," he muttered, taking the last few stairs two at a time and opening the door. The shouting stopped as soon as he entered. Neville and Tobias looked up at him, Tobias looking angry, Neville sheepish.

Harry glanced at both of them. "Over it?" he asked.

"No," snapped Toby.

"Why not?"

Toby's fist clenched around the slice of bread he was holding. Harry could see various other bits on the floor near Neville's feet. "Because you don't just wake up, find out you're a _monster _and then think, 'hey, it's no big deal, it's only once a month after all, and the sharp hearing and smelling is pretty cool…"

"Sounds convincing to me," said Harry. "This is Olav, by the way."

"Right," said Toby, not looking. "So what's the plan, _Potter_?"

"We stay here tonight. Move on in the morning. Sound good to you?"

Toby sighed, eyeing the bowl of dumpling soup miserably. "Fine. I want out of here as soon as possible."

oO0Oo

oO0Oo

**If my Czech translation sucks, please don't kill me. I haven't been there in about three years.**

Ach Bůh… - Oh God…

Tebe ar Anglicky? – Are you English?

Ano – Yes.

On is klení. – He is cursed.

Ach , to jest ne blaho… - Oh, that's not good…

Šumava – is pronounced 'Shumava'

Czech – for people who may not have heard it spoken, is pronounced 'Check'.

**Thanks everyone for your awesome reviews! I promise I won't take so long, next time.**


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